


Adventures in Agape

by Zadabug98



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Are they agender?, Are they genderfluid?, Belly Dancing, Chapter 7 isn't actually a chapter, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I refuse to use it, I wrote this instead of studying for my finals, Ice Dancing, It's just Yuuri, Lilia is busy af so she's not around often, Multi, Neither is Yakov, Pass it on, Pole Dancing, SO MUCH FLUFF, Salsa dancing, Songfic, Tango, Victor and Yuri are still skaters though, Victuuri is a SLOW BURN, Viktor Nikiforov is an actual housecat, War Paint, You know how I said I refuse to use Yuri's dumb nickname, Yuri as Yurio, Yurio is a dumb nickname, Yuuri as Yura, Yuuri dances pretty, Yuuri with long hair, and alot, because Mari decided that it needed to happen, but there are good humans out there too, dancing in general, doughnuts, honestly idk, kind of?, nevermind, non-binary Yuuri, sorry - Freeform, sort of, the internet is really really great for asshats and bigotry, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zadabug98/pseuds/Zadabug98
Summary: Yakov wants Lilia to train Yuri in ballet, but Lilia has better things to do and besides her student would do a much better job at teaching this kid how to do The Thing, so Yuuri trains Yuri. Viktor is smitten.





	1. Introducing Long-Haired, Russian Speaking, Ballet Dancing, Belly Dancing, Androgynous Yuuri; Smitten Viktor; and Yuri in a tutu

**Author's Note:**

> This is the child of not wanting to study for my finals and my recent love for Ballet!Yuuri (and men en pointe in general I mean god, youtube that shit. It's quality). I originally intended this to be a little teeny tiny one shot where long haired, en pointe Yuuri basically says "Surprise mother fucker, I'm a boy!" But... uh... yeah that didn't happen. You'll see. This is only the first half of what I've already written and I haven't even gotten to the Grand Prix. Or introduced Yuuri's college buddies. You know the ones.
> 
> PSA though. Basically the extent of my ballet experience is watching anime while my sister took her lessons in another room. If I got anything wrong, let me know. (Also, I apologize in advance for making the ballet community look like an ass. Sorry. It was story necessary.)
> 
> Also not beta'd, if that matters to anyone. Let me know if you see mistakes.

Victor, much like every other skater who studied under Yakov, knew that the man’s ex-wife was a famous prima ballerina. No one knew how they got together or how they ended it and, if he was honest, no one wanted to know. It would be like the day when you realize your parents had sex with each other to make you. It’s traumatizing enough knowing it happened, he didn’t want the particulars on _how_.

Even so, he’s surprised to walk into the ice rink and have Yakov immediately shove a pissy Yuri in his arms with instructions to drive him to a ballet studio. “I need you to make sure he goes, and stay with him to make sure he stays,” was apparently Yakov’s reasoning. Why he thinks Viktor won’t just take this as an easy out and treat them both to ice cream, Viktor doesn’t know but he’s trying to prove to Yakov he’s responsible enough to try his hand at coaching now that he’s retiring from competitive skating so he does as told and pulls up to the swanky building that looks more like a low-key mansion than a dance studio.

Yuri isn’t happy about it but he’s only 15, and there isn’t much to be happy about at that age anyway.

“What are we even doing here?” Viktor thinks to ask only as they’re opening the door.

Yuri scowls, but answers anyway. “Yakov seems to think that I don’t have enough finesse or some shit, so he’s making me take ballet lessons from his ex-wife.”

Viktor hums, but gets distracted before he can respond. They walk into what should be the dining room or front parlor but is in actuality a dance studio, dominated by a wall of mirrors on one wall and a wall of windows on another, facing a beautiful garden Viktor had briefly seen outside the house when they had first pulled up.

A woman is waiting for them in the studio, dressed in a knee length black skirt and a three-quarter sleeve black leotard. The soft sole of her ballet flats tapped against the hard wood floors incessantly and she leveled a glare on the two men as they entered the room. “Finally!” She barked at them, glancing at the clock. “You’re a full hour late!”

Viktor immediately straightens, recognizing that look from years of working from Yakov. Yuri, however, simply scowls. “How could we be late when we didn’t even know we were supposed to be here an hour ago?”

Lilia Baranovskaya folds both her arms over her chest and glares. “That is none of my concern,” She says. “What is my concern is that you’ve wasted an hour of my time and forced me to send my student after you to fetch you. Now you are here and they are not. Do you see how this is an issue?”

Yuri blinks. “I thought I was supposed to be your student?”

Lilia snorts. “You are a baby. I won’t waste my time teaching you first position when I have a number of other responsibilities. Besides, Yakov wishes for you to display the grace of a prima ballerina on ice skates, there is none better suited to be your teacher than my current student.”

Just then the front door slams open and someone comes running into the studio. They’re obviously a dancer, pale tights wrapped up in thick, black, thigh-high leg warmers and a slightly too loose gray sweater hanging off one shoulder, revealing the black strap of a leotard. “Lilia-san!” They pant, breaths heavy as though they’d just been running. “They weren’t at the rink! Yakov said they’d already left. Are they here?” They look up, breaking off their stream of mismashed English and Russian to stare straight at Viktor. They squeak, hands reaching up into their long, ebony hair to cover their face. “O-oh. He-hello.”

Lilia clicks her tongue. “Yuuri, stop that.” She barks, but at a slower speed that softens her tone. “You’ll tangle your hair again and we don’t have time for you to brush it out. We’re already an hour behind.”

This Yuuri straightens up, darting a few glances at Viktor before tucking their hair behind their ear and looking at the floor. “Hai,” they whisper softly. “Gomenasai.”

Lilia nods once, stiffly, before turning to Viktor and Yuri. “I present to you Yuuri Katsuki, winner of the USA International Ballet Competition. They’ll be studying under me for the time being, and for that time being you, Yuri, will be studying under them.”

Yuuri looks up at Lilia. “What?” They sputter in jumpy English. “I can’t teach!”

 Lilia turns a glare on them. “You can and you will. The best way to learn is to teach others, you know. It will be good practice for you I guarantee it.” She glanced at the clock. “I have to be somewhere soon. Had you arrived on time we would’ve had longer but no matter, best to start with Yuuri anyway. I’ll be back later to judge your progress.”

Lilia walks out the door.

Viktor and Yuri both turn towards the new Yuuri, who has once again knotted the fingers of one hand, the other pulling on the hem of their sweater. Viktor is confused to say the least, unsure whether the dancer before him is a ballerina or a danseur.

Yuuri steps over to the bar and shuffles around inside a duffle bag that has been there since the beginning. They pull out a brush and a handful of bobby pins, pulling their hair up into a ponytail and twisting it around into a ballet bun, pinning it in place and wrapping it up in a hairnet. Viktor is suddenly nostalgic for his own long hair and the fun ways he’d found to put it up.

“First things first,” Yuuri says softly. “Do you have your own pair of flats?”

Yuri holds up a small, mesh, drawstring bag as though it holds the remains of dead animal.

Yuuri smiles, pulling on a pair of their own flats and standing back up. “Good. Have you done ballet before?”

Yuri scoffs. “Obviously.”

The dancer smiles, a shy little thing that makes Victor want to smoosh their cheeks in both his hands. Yuuri turns to him appraisingly. “Will you be joining us?”

“No,” Viktor says. “I’m just here to make sure Yuri doesn’t bail.”

Yuuri nods at this and begins the lesson. They run through proper stretches first and Viktor spends a long time marveling at the ways that Yuuri can bend themselves into knots. They shift into positions and spend nearly an hour cycling through them, Yuuri correcting microscopic details until Yuri can finally do them all flawlessly.

When Yuri finally reaches the end of his patience and his tolerance for compliance for the day they take a break and Yuuri ties on a pair of black pointe shoes.

“What are you doing?” Viktor asks from his spot on the floor, the same place he’s been the whole time though he’d cycled through a variety of poses and levels of consciousness.

Yuuri looks up and him, bashful, and just smiles. “It’s torture being in a ballet studio and not actually dancing.” They say. “I figured I’d run through a routine or two to work it out of my system. You’re welcome to watch if you’d like.”

Viktor blinks and smiles. “Of course, I could think of nothing I’d want to see more.”

Yuri makes a gagging sound from the other side of the room where he’d drinking from a bottle of water, sending Viktor the kind of glare one reserves for their grandfather whenever they hit on waitresses. Viktor would be offended but honestly he’s much more focused on Yuuri’s swaggering movements as they take position in the middle of the studio, standing up on pointe already.

“Please press play on the radio, Viktor.”

Viktor does, and watches as Yuuri’s body transforms into something almost fluid, spinning on their toes and jumping. Viktor is transfixed as Yuuri lifts their hip in circles along with the clicking of the music, shifting their shoulders to mirror the motion. The dance is seductive without trying to be, like fine chocolate melting down the back of Viktor’s throat. Viktor recognizes the movements as undeniably ballet, but there’s something smooth and effortless about the movements that makes it something entirely different.

The music fades as Yuuri pants, folding to sit on the floor.

“What was that?” Yuri is the first to ask, breaking the silence. “It didn’t look like any ballet I’ve ever seen before.”

Yuuri just blinks at him. “It’s the Dance of the Arabians, from the Nutcracker.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” He scowls, and then pouts and then says nothing more.

“How did you learn to dance like that?” Viktor asks, picking up on the question Yuri couldn’t articulate.

Yuuri brightens at that question. “Oh! I understand what you mean now.” He nods, to them and to himself. “I studied belly dancing while I was living in America, my roommate was Thai and they convinced me to try it.”

“You learned belly dancing to help you with ballet?”

Yuuri glances at Yuri, picking up on the skepticism in his voice. “Not really,” they answer. “They happened separately and just kind of came together.”

Viktor smirks. “No wonder Lilia wants you to train Yuri then.”

Yuuri blushes and looks away, fingers knotting on the hem of their sweater.

“Alright, that’s it,” Yuri hisses, jumping to his feet. “I’ve had enough. There can’t be two Yuris!”

Yuuri looks up at that, surprised. Viktor is just as shocked, but if he honest he should’ve seen it coming.  “I suppose you’re right.” Yuuri stutters in hesitant Russian. “Would you like me to call you something else?”

Yuri’s brows draw together and Viktor can tell he’s about to start yelling. “How about,” he buts in, attempting to diffuse the situation before it blows up. “How about we call you Yura?” He asks, looking at Yuuri. “Yuri is a very masculine name in Russian, and you’re much too pretty to be a Yuri, don’t you think? Yura’s a nickname. Much cuter.”

Yuuri flushes all the way to their collar bones. “I suppose if you want to that’s okay, but I don’t mind if Yuuri’s a boy’s name in Russian.”

“No but,” Viktor holds up his hands. “It’s weird if a girl has a boy’s name, right?”

Yuuri blinks. Eyebrows scrunching together as if they don’t understand.

“Maybe it’s a girl’s name in Japanese – you are Japanese, right?” Yuuri nods. “– but it’s super different here.” Yuri nods alongside Viktor.

Yuuri smiles softly. “Yuuri’s a boy’s name in Japanese, too,” He says as he checks the laces on his pointe shoes, rising back up on pointe and dipping a few times. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Viktor blinks, glancing over at Yuri as Yuuri lifts their leg to stretch out against the barre bar.

“Yura it is, then.”

* * *

 

When Yuri first learns he’s to live in Lilia’s house with her and the other Yuuri, he’s upset. When Viktor insists on staying too, he’s beyond upset, but if he’s honest it’s not that bad.

“Slow down, Yuri. It’s not going anywhere. I’ll make you more if you want it.”

Yeah, when this new other Yuuri’s delicious cooking is added to the equation it almost negates the annoyance of Viktor’s presence.

“Will you make me more, too, Yura?”

Almost. The two of them have been low key flirting since Viktor showed up again with both of their bags in the trunk of his car, and it wouldn’t be so bad – really it wouldn’t, Yuri’s been dealing with Viktor’s schmoozy flirting for years now – if it weren’t for the fact that this other Yuuri seems completely oblivious to the fact that they’re even being flirted with in the first place.

Most of the day goes by in much the same way: Viktor flirts, Yuri scowls, and Yuuri remains entirely oblivious to the whole affair, just knotting their hands in their clothes and tugging at their hair whenever it’s down.

By the time Yuri tucks himself into the huge ass bed he’s suffering from a case of second hand embarrassment so bad he just wants to punch Viktor in his stupid face to maybe knock some sense into him. Though Yuri often wants to punch Viktor in the face, so that’s not an entirely new or alarming development.

What is alarming though, is the soft sound of music that rises up from the floor half past two in the morning, which Yuri hears only because he was woken up by an Instagram notification.

Tired and mildly annoyed by the music keeping him from going back to sleep, Yuri pulls on a fluffy robe and fluffy house slippers and makes his way downstairs. There’s light seeping out from the door to the dance studio.

Yuri identifies the music as Latin, probably tango or something but the lyrics are in English and the beat is unfamiliar. He pushes open the door, about to yell at Viktor for keeping him up when he’s put face to face with Yuuri as they spin across the floor almost violently, snapping their leg up into a near 180 degree split on the harsher bass notes.

They must have changed before coming down, because Yuri is sure he would remember if Yuuri had been wearing the sleeveless high-neck dress they have on now. It flutters around their knees, black fabric swishing as they move. The motions are rapid and fluid, spins transitioning into full splits on the floor, feet pointed in black flats.

Yuri stands, shell-shocked.

Yuuri looks up to see Yuri standing there and almost screams, jerking violently to their feet. “Oh my god, Yuri!” They whisper harshly. “I didn’t see you there.”

Yuri glances at them, and then looks away. “Why’re you dancing the tango at three in the morning?”

Yuuri glances at the clock and pales. “Oh no. I didn’t mean to be up this late. Dancing helps me think, you see, so I usually dance for an hour or two before I go to bed but I must’ve gotten carried away. I’m sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to!”

Yuri blinks. “So it was a Tango, then?”

“Huh?”

“The dance you just did. I was right, it’s a tango.”

Yuuri flushes, twisting the ruffles of their skirt between their fingers. “Uh, yeah it is.”

Yuri nods and walks over to sit against the wall. “How many styles of dance do you know, anyway?”

Yuuri looks up at him curiously before sliding slowly to sit on the floor a few feet in front of him. “Uh, I’m not sure an exact number.” They begin ticking off numbers on their fingers, flushing harder with each one. “Ah, belly dancing you know about already. Ballet, obviously. Tango. Salsa. Waltz. Ah, swing dance. Um…”

“Do you incorporate them all into your ballet?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah. Everyone whose anyone back in America says my ballet isn’t formal enough, too untraditional. They want me to study under Lilia and get it out of my system. But Lilia thinks that my dancing is fine the way it is, and actually thinks I could work to incorporate the styles more cleanly, so she’s keeping me around.”

“How long have you been in Russia, anyway? You’re Russian isn’t too terrible and I doubt you studied it in America.”

Yuuri flushes. “A little over a year, I think.”

Yuri nods. He’s tired, and feeling surprisingly open for once in his life, so he keeps asking questions. They talk for hours and when Viktor walks into the studio ready to begin rehearsal he finds them both asleep, Yuuri with their head in Yuri’s lap and the young boys fingers trapped in the thick waves of Yuuri’s hair. Viktor can’t resist the moment and pulls out his phone to take a snapshot, uploading the photo to Instagram, #yurisquared #sleepykitties #yuriplisetsky #yuurikatsuki.

He can’t bear to wake the pair up, so he settles in to wait for them to do it on their own. He snaps a few more pictures while he’s at it and posts only a few of them to Instagram. The others he saves in a special new folder on his phone.

Not even a half hour later Lilia herself enters the dance studio, dressed in a horrid yellow coat. When she sets eyes on the sleeping pair her face scrunches in what can only be fond annoyance. Or so Viktor thinks, he’s not really sure.

“That child,” she sighs. “Stayed up too late practicing again, no doubt.” She glances at Viktor’s curious face and frowns. “I’m going out. See that these two actually get something done today.”

Viktor nods and watches as she sashays out the room. He glances over at the sleeping pair and smiles. He’ll make sure they’re up eventually, but… not just yet.

* * *

 A few months pass and Yuri eventually is allowed back on the ice. Yuuri comes to the rink with them and stands against the barrier, watching Yuri and taking notes. Their time in the dance studio is shorter now, but Yuuri knows exactly what to focus on so that they make the most of it.

“He’s still not getting the hang of his Agape, is he?” Yuuri comments one day, eyes tracking the younger Russian’s movements intently.

“He’s trying too hard to be Odette, that he’s just coming out as Odile.” A deep voice supplies from beside them. Viktor looks over to see Georgi also watching the younger skater.

Yuuri laughs at the comment though. “He is, isn’t he. Hello, Georgi. Haven’t seen you around Lilia’s place lately.”

Georgi snorts. “I’m banned from her studio until I can, and I quote, get my act together enough to not cry all over her hard wood floors. As if those floors aren’t already covered in layers of blood and sweat.”

Yuuri laughs and Viktor looks between them for a moment. “You know Georgi, Yura?”

Yuuri looks up at him and smiles. “Oh, yeah, Georgi used to come by Lilia’s studio at least once a week. He’s a total ballet nerd.”

Georgi sputters but there’s no saving him, they all know it’s true.

“But you’re right.” Viktor says to save them from getting more distracted. “He’ll manage for the first half or so, but he always loses it.”

Yuuri sighs. “Makes me feel like I’m failing him. At least his short program is coming together nicely.”

Viktor tuts his tongue. “No, no, Yura. You’ve been doing fine. It’s not your fault our resident tiger cub doesn’t know the wonders of Agape.”

“Oi!” Yuri shouts from the ice, “I heard that!”

Viktor laughs and smiles. “It’s true though, you’ve got the gist of it but you can’t keep hold of it.”

Yuri sighs forcefully, pushing himself towards the barrier they’re all three leaning against. “I’m just not made for this soft stuff. Viktor just let me skate the other one already.”

“No,” Viktor refuses for the twenty third time that week. “You’ll skate this one or nothing at all.”

Yuri scowls and gets right up in Viktor’s face. “I’m telling you, I can’t skate this one. It’s not in my blood!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Yuuri interrupts before the real shouting can begin. “Your skating is a performance, a persona, a time for you to be something you’re not. Do you really think that a magical evil witch is in Georgi’s blood? Maybe he finds something to relate to in the character, but that’s it. You think being a Sugar Plum Fairy or a Marionette is in my blood? No. But I still perform those roles and I give them my very best.”

Yuri blinks, surprised by his mentor’s outburst.

Yuuri notices the silence and draws back a little, shoulders curling forwards ever so slightly. “Sorry,” they mumble. “But that’s the truth.”

Viktor smiles. “Yura’s right,” he says. “You just haven’t found that deep, deep, deep down part of you where you’ve hidden your Agape. So. Until you do find it, you’re banned from the ice.”

Yuri surges up, back into Viktor’s face. “What!?” He all but screams. “You don’t have that kind of power!”

Viktor smirks. “Oh, but I do. Yakov gave me permission to ‘do what I think best’ when he let me stay with you at Lilia’s. And this is what I think best. So, come off the ice. We’ll go back to Lilia’s and practice honing your Agape. What do you think of meditation, Yura? Think that’ll help? Personally I wish there was a temple nearby. Or a waterfall! Shame there isn’t. Wait, maybe if I look online…”

“Uh, Viktor,” Yuuri tugs on Viktor’s jacket, drawing his eyes away from his phone and the google search he’d pulled up. “Yuri’s not there anymore.”

Sure enough, Yuri’s gone, skating back onto the ice and away from Viktor. Viktor shouts and pulls of his skate guards to chase after him, and so continues the rest of Yuuri’s afternoon.

The next morning Yuuri enters to dance studio to see the Russian pair already up, Viktor fiddling with his phone as per usual and Yuri stretching out on the floor. Yuri glances up and freezes, staring at the thing in Yuuri’s hands. “What is that?”

Yuuri glances down at it and smiles. “It’s a tutu, one of the smaller ones from Lilia’s collection. I had an idea today that I think we should try.”

Yuri rolls his eyes but jerks his head at the tutu. “Fine then, get that thing on and tell me what to do.”

Yuuri enters the room, setting the tutu down gently next to Yuri and settling in to slip into their black flats. “We’re going to do a pas de deux, a dance for two, but I’m afraid you’ll be the one in the tutu this time.”

Yuri’s head snaps away from the tulle covered disaster and drills into Yuuri’s down-tilted face. “What?”

Yuuri looks up with a hesitant smile. “You need to get out of your comfort zone,” they say. “So I’ll play a piece of music and you’ll dance as the ballerina while I dance as the danseur. Just do whatever feels right.”

“Nothing feels right about me wearing a tutu.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re going to.”

Yuuri stands up, adjusting the sleeves on their sweater and pulling their leg warmers back up. “Here, I’ll help you get it on.”

Despite Yuri’s ardent protests he does indeed end up wearing the tutu and it’s not a bad fit, pale pink fabric and pure white tulle. Yuri swears he can see Viktor taking pictures but he chooses not to care about it for the moment. If this is what he has to do to get better, to skate his program, to win the Grand Prix, then goddamn it he’ll do it.

“Alright, what now.”

Yuuri smiles and hits a button on the CD player and something that sounds suspiciously like Viktor’s Stay Close to Me track fills the air. “Dance whatever you think fits the music, and I’ll match you.”

So Yuri does. He has no idea what he’s doing and whatever it is that he is doing, he’s pretty sure he’s doing it wrong, but he keeps going. The song is soft, longing, so Yuri softens his arms, bends his legs just a bit more, stepping across the studio in what he hopes looks like the pursuit for a lover.

And then Yuuri joins in, helping him through spins and turns but never lingering for longer than necessary. Yuri loses himself in the music, ignoring the way that the fabric of the tutu makes him fell both heavy and exceptionally light.

The music fades, and Yuri can’t remember anything he just did. Maybe that’s a good thing though, because Viktor looks the very image of a heart-eyes emoji. “Yuri,” he says, his voice filled to the brim with fond affection. “That was beautiful. You were the very image of Agape! What were you thinking about!?”

Yuuri steps away to stop the CD player and Yuri is left to pick at the hem of his tutu. “Nothing, really.” He says. “I just did what Yura said, I moved with the music.”

Yuuri nods and smiles. “I thought as much. It’s not that your performance lacks Agape, it’s that your Agape gets smothered by your conscious thoughts. Focusing on your competitors, on your jumps, how much you want to win distracts you from the image you’re presenting.”

Viktor applauds, but Yuri can’t help but scowl. “How the hell am I supposed to skate without thinking about the jumps?! I’ll fall on my ass!!”

Yuuri hums for a moment, thinking this over. “Practice, probably. Repeat the jumps so many times you could do them in your sleep. Focus on the music, feel the music, let it guide you into your movements instead. Viktor?”

Viktor looks up from his phone and nods. “That’s basically how I did it. You’ll just have to find what works for you. Focus isn’t a bad thing, but it can be distracting sometimes. Agape isn’t something you think, it’s something you feel.”

Yuri huffs. “I suppose that’s not horribly useless. Does that mean I can go back on the ice now?”

* * *

 

When Yuri and Viktor leave for Skate Canada, Yuuri doesn’t go with them. Instead, Yuuri watches the live stream from the comfort of Lilia’s lushly furnished sitting room and cheers and Yuri skates. They want to be there so bad, but they don’t regret turning down the invitation to come along. Having Yakov, Lilia, and Viktor there was more than enough support and Yuuri didn’t want to add any stress to Yuri’s first Senior debut.

Yuri skates beautifully, and very nearly maintains his Agape for the whole performance. When Yuri comes back, Yuuri makes sure to have his favorite dish prepared and serves seconds and thirds until the poor boy looks like he’s going to pass out in a food coma. Yuuri has never been prouder.

Yuuri realizes later that they have, indeed, become their mother.


	2. Yuuri Wins Team Mom Of The Year And Yakov Is Really A Cool Dude Underneath All That Viktor Induced Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a hungover retired figure skater, a hungover angry tiger cub, and a not hungover but very confused katsudon do some soul searching on a dance studio floor and ultimately fall asleep there. (Also, Yuuri knows Christophe. Because apparently there are no rules anymore. Thank you, Episode 10.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when writing Chapter 1 I thought to myself, "nah, Yuuri can't break dance, that's a bit too much of a stretch even for this fic" but APPARENTLY ACCORDING TO EPISODE 10 THERE ARE NO RULES!!!! 
> 
> Again, I know absolutely nothing about anything. Please let me know if I got something wrong, accidentally used the wrong pronoun for Yuuri (this fic is nearing 12,000 words at this point it's bound to happen at least once), or whatever. Enjoy!

When Yuri competes in Russia, Yuuri is there to see him perform. They watch Yuuri struggle through Agape, wanting desperately to beat the Canadian skater that beat him out for the gold medal in Skate Canada.  Yuuri’s heart goes out to him, and they want nothing more than to pull the young skater into the proud hug they’ve been aching to give him for months now.

When he places second once again, Yuuri is the first to meet him when he comes off the ice. Yuri looks like he’s about to cry angry tears and Yuuri knows that feeling. The second he’s within arms’ reach, Yuuri pulls Yuri into a giant hug, smooshing the teen’s face into their shoulder, holding him close as he trembles with suppressed emotion.

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri croons softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

Yuri shakes his head into the fabric of Yuuri’s jacket, rubbing his hot tears into the soft material. Yuri brings his arms up and wraps them around Yuuri’s waist. “I didn’t beat him.”

“Not yet,” Yuuri agrees, tightening their arms. “But that’s fine. Let him think he’s beaten you for now. There’s still the Grand Prix, right? These are just qualifying matches. You’ll kick his ass at the real thing, won’t you?”

Yuri sobs a hiccupping laugh into Yuuri’s shoulder. “Obviously.”

* * *

 

When they return to Lilia’s house it doesn’t take long for the alcohol to start flowing. Yuri’s out like a light after a few shots of vodka, taken in anger more than celebration, but Yuuri simply throws a blanket around his shoulders and lets him be. They’ve been nursing a bottle of sparkling sakura wine, and only feel half-past tipsy.

Viktor, however, has been downing shots like a man fresh from the desert and Yuuri would be concerned if it were anyone else. Unfortunately, Viktor could drink even the heartiest of Yuuri’s college drinking buddies under the table with near to no hangover afterwards. Yuuri would be jealous, but so long as they keep their green tea to sakura wine intake even then they’re usually hangover-free as well.

“Why do you dance so much?” Viktor asks out of the blue about half an hour after Yuri conks out. They’d been having quiet conversations about nothing in particular and the question would surprise a soberer Yuuri, but half-past tipsy Yuuri just smiles.

“Why do you skate so much?”

Viktor snorts. “That’s not fair, Yura. I asked you first.”

Yuuri chuckles but resolves themselves to answer the question. “I learned ballet from a neighbor in Japan. She’s a world-famous ballerina, so she was a very good teacher, but I moved to America to continue my education. I learned English and Spanish while I was there, and a bit of Thai from my roommate, but I nearly gave up from stress. One of the things they never tell you about dancing is that it’s easy to get stuck in your own head. I started ballet to help with my stress but when it became the cause of my stress I needed another outlet. So I learned other forms of dance, ones that I didn’t have to be graded on or perform for other people.”

Viktor smiles. “I understand,” he says. “It’s different when your passion becomes your job.”

“Is that why you’re thinking of retiring?” Yuuri asks before they can stop themselves. Viktor looks up and they hold up their hands quickly. But before they can apologize, Viktor beams brightly at them.

“When the judges and the audience expect to be surprised, it’s not surprising anymore, is it?”

Yuuri’s hands sink back to the table, a thoughtful expression on their face. “I suppose not. Are you going to try to coach?”

Viktor nods. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, but I’m absolute shit at encouraging people. I’d never be able to do what you did for Yuri after he came down that podium. Whatever it was I was going to say to him probably would’ve just made him mad or worse.”

Yuuri thinks for a moment. “Well, if I’m honest with myself I’ll probably never make it big in the ballet world.” Viktor begins to protest. “I’ve thought about branching into other dance circles, but I can’t shake what would happen if my salsa became stressful rather than cathartic. No one in the ballet industry wants me because I’m not traditional enough, but I can’t stay with Lilia forever.”

Yuuri catches a glimpse of Viktor’s soulful eyes and backtracks quickly. “Oh, no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you. I tend to talk too much when I’m drunk, just pretend you didn’t hear that, oh god.”

Viktor surges forward, grabbing Yuuri’s hands with both of his own. “Yuuri, would you like to co-coach with me?”

Yuuri blinks rapidly. “Eh?”

Viktor smiles broadly and nods enthusiastically. “It’s perfect,” he insists.

“I don’t know all that much about competitive figure skating, though!” Yuuri says quickly, trying to pull their hands away. “I mean I can skate, but I can’t teach!”

“You don’t have to! I’ll handle all the skating stuff, but you’re great with emotions; encouraging skaters, figuring out their headspace and how to make them better. I mean you’ve nearly uncovered Agape in the prickliest teenager I’ve ever met! If it’s the two of us coaching him, then Yuri’s basically unbeatable!”

Yuuri can only blink in the face of such ardent enthusiasm. “I don’t,” the stutter. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me you’ll at least think about it!”

Yuuri nods slowly. “Sure.”

Viktor’s whole face lights up and he lurches across the table to plant his lips right up against Yuuri’s pulling away with a resounding smack. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long!” Viktor gushes, slurred, right before he collapses in a pile of unconscious Russian, splayed across the table.

Yuuri sits in shocked silence, slowly pulling their hands away from Viktor’s and bringing them up to their face, feeling the lingering warmth of Viktor’s skin bounce from their fingertips to their lips. A flush rises to Yuuri’s face unbidden and the one thought that they have before their brain becomes a mush of confused screaming is this: “fuck.”

* * *

 Yuuri doesn’t really remember the rest of that evening, but somehow they wrestle Victor so that he’s lying on the ground with a throw pillow under his head and a warm blanket over his body, cuddled up to Makkachin as per usual. Yuri is light enough to carry, so Yuuri bundles him into their arms and takes him upstairs to his room, gently tucking him in under the covers.

“I’m so proud of you, Yurochka.” And, before they can stop themselves, Yuuri drops a kiss to his forehead.

* * *

 

The skating rink is empty when Yuuri gets there, but they can see the light on in Yakov’s office. “Oh, Yuuri!” He says when he sees them standing in the doorway. “It’s late. Is there a problem with Vitya or Yuri?”

Yuuri smiles and shakes their head. “No, they’re both passed out back at Lilia’s, I wanted to know if I could use the rink for a bit. There’s a routine I want to try out on the ice.”

Yakov smiles. Despite his best efforts he’s become fond of the unorthodox dancer standing before him, and he’s let them on the ice at night often enough by now that he’s been considering getting them a key. He would, if he didn’t work so late everyday anyway.

“Sure, go for it. Georgi wanted to know if you’d critique the program he has lined up for next season. Do that for me in return, yeah?”

Yuuri knows he would’ve given Georgi input anyway, but they accept and leave the office with a set of keys. Yuuri’s held them often enough to know which one leads to the ice and enters without much fuss. It isn’t long before Yuuri’s skating towards the center of the ice, waiting for the delay he set up on the CD player to run out before the first few tittering guitar strums fill the air.

This is a new tango; one Yuri had stumbled upon by accident when trying to help figure out Yuri’s On Love: Agape. This is On Love: Eros, and Yuuri had been conflicted ever since they’d discovered it over whether or not to translate it into ice dancing. But now that they’re on the ice, sliding into step sequences and dizzying spin combinations, they know it was the right choice.

Yuuri feels bad about not saying anything to Yuri or Viktor about his ice dancing, and they technically didn’t lie to Viktor about not knowing anything about competitive figure skating, but this is one of their more stress-relieving mediums. And Yuuri knows as well as anyone that once Viktor finds out, they’ll never be able to skate in peace like this.

Viktor is great, a ball of sunshine and vibrant smiles, but sometimes Yuuri needs a few quiet moments in a cold, dark skating rink where the thrumming music and the sound of his skates against the ice bounce around the empty room. Where Yuuri is free to fall without eyes on them tracking their every move.

Yuuri is also quite positive that Viktor is convinced they’re a girl, and honestly they can’t fault him for that assumption. They’ve never told him they’re technically a boy, despite dropping what they thought were rather straight-forward hints.

It’s hard to be taken seriously as a danseur when you feel more suited to dance as the Sugar Plum Fairy than her Cavalier. They were able to win the IBC in America through a gender-neutral performance of the Arabians but after that, Yuuri sighs. Too non-traditional for their tastes, even in a country as progressive as America.

Lilia’s original purpose had been to snap them into performing the masculine roles that he was “supposed to perform”, but she took one look at Yuuri and was convinced they’d have been a prima if anyone had given them a chance. She tells that to the ballet companies that check in on his progress, but Yuuri still is yet to receive an invitation to audition.

They’re fine with it though, if the companies won’t let them dance the way they’re best suited to, then it’s their loss and not Yuuri’s.

Kicking up one heel, Yuuri latches on to the blade of their skate, spinning in maddening circles before collapsing to their knees as the song suddenly cuts out at the end. They’re panting hard, exertion-warm skin burning against the harsh cold of the ice, but it feels nice. Yuuri spreads out on the ice, luxuriating in the feel.

Soft applause startles them into opening their eyes, snapping over to where Yakov is standing near the Kiss and Cry.

Yuuri lets out a breath and gets up, skating over to him.

“You know, Yura,” Yakov says, handing them a steaming cup of green tea. “You really could’ve made it big on the ice.”

Yuuri laughs at this, smiling as they sip on the warm tea. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve gotten into it sooner, gone pro. But I probably would’ve self-destructed on the ice in front of so many people. Best to keep it secret, I think.”

Yakov laughs, but it’s nothing harsh. Yuuri wonders why so many people think Yakov is a hard-ass, but then again Yakov isn’t in charge of Yuuri’s training or their PR so that could have something to do with it. “Vitya tells me he’s thinking about asking you to co-coach with him.”

Yuuri is surprised by this, but only a little bit. They should have known that Viktor wouldn’t make such a proposition without thinking about it beforehand, drunk off his ass or no. “He asked me today, actually.”

Yakov nods. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself for long. He wanted to wait until Yuri won the Grand Prix.”

Yuuri laughs. “He probably won’t remember asking me, anyway. He was totally wasted when he asked.”

“Not that his memory is any good when he’s sober, either.”

Yuuri smiles and looks out over the glistening ice, carved up from his performance just then. “I’m considering accepting the offer,” they say softly. “I don’t know if I’ll really be any help, but I’ve got no other offers and I do enjoy working with Yuri.”

Yakov smiles at this, though Yuuri can’t see it. “Think about it for a few days. It’ll take at least that long for Viktor to remember he even asked you, if he ever does.”

Yuuri simply laughs at that and slides back on to the ice. “My phone is hooked up to the CD player. Could you hit shuffle?”

Yakov sighs and steps over to the machine, scanning for a second before hitting the right button. Most of the songs on this playlist have a minute or two of delay, enough time for Yuuri to press play and then get into position before the music truly began.

Yuuri starts in a natural position, waiting for the music to begin and as it does, they let all their stress drain away. It’s just them, the music, and the ice.

When they finally leave the rink, there’s a spare key resting on top of the CD player.

* * *

The next day Yuuri comes downstairs to see both Viktor and Yuri nursing hangovers, slumped over the breakfast bar in the kitchen. Yuuri’s not surprised, but they are amused. “Good morning you two,” they chirp softly. “How are my favorite Russian skaters this morning?”

The pair groans in tandem, though Yuri’s is mostly slurred swear words and Viktor’s is prayers to god for relief from his suffering. Yuuri tries valiantly to hold back their laughter. They pull back their hair into what Americans referred to as a man-bun and started on their favorite hangover remedy.

In no time flat, Yuuri sets heaping bowls of traditional Japanese ramen down in front of them both, with a glass of turmeric tea for them both as well. Yuuri settles down with just a bowl of miso soup and a bowl of white rice, feeling nostalgic after making the ramen.

“Hurry and eat while it’s warm,” Yuuri says to them softly. “It’ll make you feel better I promise.”

Both Russians eye their bowls with something bordering skepticism, but neither are the type to turn down food made by Yuuri so they dig in slowly. By the time Yuuri is sipping the last of their green tea, both boys are finished with their bowls and are looking much happier with the world.

“Thank you, Yura.” Viktor says, still slurring slightly with exhaustion. “That was delicious.”

Yuri nods around his mouthful of noodles, his eyes looking brighter already.

Yuuri smiles at them both. “I’m glad,” they say. “I knew this would happen so I made sure to pick up the ingredients while I was out last night.”

Viktor perks at this. “Why were you out last night? We were up super late, weren’t we?”

Yuuri flushes and looks away, nervous habits they haven’t experienced for months coming back with a vengeance as they knot their fingers in the cotton fabric of their loose-fitting pants. “Uh, well I, uh, nothing important, really.”

Yuri looks at Yuuri curiously. “That’s hella suspicious but since you just saved my life with food, I’m gonna let it slide.” He jabs Viktor in the side as a sign that he should do the same. Viktor complies, but not without whining at Yuri and pouting at Yuuri and generally making a nuisance of himself.

Yuri’s hands fly to his temples, rubbing gently. “God, my head hurts!” He whisper-shouts. “I’m gonna be shit today on the ice, damn it.”

Yuuri’s gaze snaps to Yuri. “I had an idea, if you’re willing to stay of the ice for today – or at least until you feel better – but it might not actually be less taxing, I mean we’ll be doing a lot of thinking, so I don’t know-”

“Yuuri.” Yuri interrupted, snapping Yuuri’s attention back to the two men seated in front of them. Yuri smiled. “I’m okay with it.”

Yuuri smiled and nodded and all three of them ventured into the dance studio. Viktor collapsed into a pile of misery in the corner, still too hungover to be any use to anyone, but Yuri looked much better already and Yuuri suddenly felt more confident about their idea.

“Okay, so,” they began as they set up the radio to play a CD absolutely filled with seascapes and nature tracks that Yuuri used whenever they meditated. “We’re gonna meditate. I know Victor advised it a while back, but we never got around to it. Your Agape performance was nearly flawless, but you’re still too focused on winning the gold.” Yuuri settled into a comfortable position on the floor, lying on their back with their hands folded over their stomach. “Agape is selfless love, so I want you to take a moment, however long you need, and get in tune with yourself. There must be someone, some thing, that you want to dedicate your performance to, so that whenever you skate to Agape, your goal isn’t to win gold, but to honor that person or thing with your performance. Does that make sense?”

Yuri thought for a moment. “I think.”

“Good. Just settle into whatever’s comfortable for you. Focus on the rhythm of your breathing and then let your mind drift, searching for your Agape.”

Yuri let his eyes drift closed, settled on his back as well, hands at his sides beside Yuuri. Yuri let his mind wander, letting everything else fade to blackness besides his breathing and the sounds of nature that surrounded him.

Agape…

Agape…

What was Agape to him?

He’d been surviving thus far thinking about his grandfather, the man who raised him and encouraged him, but perhaps that Agape wasn’t enough to sustain him throughout his entire program. He always got distracted by wanting to win to make his grandfather proud, and lost his Agape.

Maybe… maybe he needed a new Agape, something else to focus on throughout the second half. Someone else who he loved, who loved him…

He cast his mind in that direction. Who else did he love? Yakov was kind, but a bit too much of a grouch for Yuri to ever openly admit he was fond of the old geezer, so he was out. Viktor was like an elder brother to him, but an annoying elder brother so he was out as well. Who else was he fond of?

Yuri’s thoughts came to a halt, memories of gentle praise and soft hugs rising up around him.

Yuuri.

Yuuri was not quite a friend, not quite a mentor. He’d missed them in Skate Canada, wishing they’d been there to celebrate his silver medal and mourn his nonexistent gold. When they had been there in Russia, Yuri hadn’t thought twice about accepting that hug, his cheek pressed against a definitely male chest. An answer whose question had long been deemed insignificant. Yuuri had been soft, supportive without coddling him and encouraging without downplaying his success.

Yuri loved to watch them dance whenever he’d stumble back to Lilia’s place, tired, damp, and cold, to find Yuuri still in the studio. Yuuri had long since given up on trying to decide if Yuuri was a boy or a girl. He’d questioned internally for the first few weeks, when faced with Yuuri’s flat-chest, boyish name, and general demeanor, but he found he didn’t care one way or another and never found out. Yuuri was Yuuri, and whatever that was Yuri was fine with it.

His thoughts shift to his time spent studying ballet, skating over and over and over again, bickering with Viktor and Georgi, eating delicious meals, watching beautiful dances.

A hazy, dream-like memory surfaced and Yuri watched it play out with curiosity. It was from the night before, and he was in Yuuri’s arms being carried up the stairs to his bedroom. He must have passed out drunk.

Yuuri gently laid him in his bed, pulling the covers up over him and smiling down at him. “I’m so proud of you, Yurochka,” drifted from memory-Yuuri’s mouth, suddenly pressed gently against his own forehead.

Yuri blinks, breaking himself out of his meditative trance, suddenly aware of who his second half Agape should be. The one person who he wants to make proud more than anything. Maybe more than his grandfather, even. The one person who he knows will be proud of him more than anything, win or lose, gold or silver.

And that person is goddamn Yuuri Katsuki, team mom extraordinaire.

* * *

They lay on the floor for what feels like hours, but Yuuri honestly doesn’t mind. Their suggestion to meditate was half for Yuri’s sake and half for their own, after all. They need time to think about Viktor’s proposal, of whether he meant it, whether he even remembers it, whether he’ll bring it up again, whether he’ll decide against it, the thoughts are circular and agonizing.

Yuuri’s fingers clench, and they decide to think about something else. El Tango de Roxanne still hadn’t found a home yet, perhaps it was time to call up an old friend…

* * *

Viktor isn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until he wakes up, and if he’s honest he’s a little confused as to why Yuuri and Yuri are lying in the middle of the floor listening to… a rainforest?

He shuffles over towards them and lies down too, convinced that there must be a reason why they’re chilling on the floor, even if he can’t think of one at the present moment. As he lays there, his thoughts wander towards the night before, and damn if he isn’t kicking his past self in the head for drinking so much. He’s usually very responsible with his drinking but he let it get out of hand and that’s on him. Well, past him anyway.

Viktor remembers asking Yuuri to co-coach with him, of course he does, he couldn’t forget something that important, but he also remembers Yuuri’s face. Hopeful, but panicked. Excited at the idea of being wanted, of having purpose, but scared that they wouldn’t be the right fit, wouldn’t be cut out for the job.

Viktor scoffs to himself. They’re practically his co-coach already even if they don’t realize it. So much of what Yuri has accomplished wasn’t due to Viktor’s guidance but to Yuuri’s encouragement and willingness to think outside the box in engaging Yuri’s mind. Viktor’s solution to problems has always been to just keep skating and let it work itself out, but that didn’t help Yuri any. Yuuri’s creative solutions, trying to figure out how to engage Yuri without forcing him, trying to get him to figure things out for himself, were invaluable.

Viktor resolves to bring it up later, but this floor is too comfortable, and before he know it he’s fallen back to sleep. 

* * *

The next day Yuri demands to be let on the ice, leaving Yuuri with free time. They don’t waste the opportunity. Early in the morning, having woken up before both Viktor and Yuri with enough time to make the two breakfast before sneaking off, Yuuri huddles in the sitting room of Lilia’s house and makes a phone call.

A sleepy, baritone voice answers. “Mmn, Yuuri?”

Yuuri smiles. “Good morning, Christophe. Sleeping in?”

Christophe Giacometti groans, the sound of rustling sheets echoing in the background. “Yuuri darling, have mercy on an old man.”

Yuuri chuckles. “You’re two years older than me, Christophe. But that’s beside the point. I need a favor.”

This gets Christophe’s attention. “Why didn’t you just say so, darling? Anything at all for my favorite little ice dancer.”

Yuuri smiles. “I need a studio, one that I can trust, and one that’s… equipped.”

Christophe chuckles over the line. “Yuuri, Yuuri, so coy and yet so dirty. I don’t know that many people in St. Petersburg, but I may have just what you need.”

Yuuri begins to smile, but the expression freezes at Christophe’s next words. “But you’ll have to let me see what you’re working on.”

Yuuri’s face flushes. “I don’t know if-”

“Not right now, obviously. I’m staying right here until my coach forcibly removes me, but when it’s finished I want to be the first to see it. Live. You’ll be coming to Barcelona with Viktor, right?”

Yuuri hums an affirmative noise. “Perfect,” Christophe gushes. “I’ll text you the studio’s address. Tell them I sent you, Alexi is a good friend.”

Yuuri sighs. “Alright. I suppose I can manage that.”

Christophe chuckles, simpering. “You’d better, Yuuri. I miss sharing a stage with you. Your feet braced on my thighs-”

Yuuri chokes. “Christophe! Don’t make it so vulgar!”

“What?” He whines, faking innocent offense. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true!”

Yuuri sighs, defeated. “Yeah whatever. That’s the last time I get drunk at a strip club with you. Come to think of it why were we even at a strip club?”

“That’s for me to know and you not to worry about. Now hurry along to Alexi’s place, I’ve got some more beauty sleep to catch up on. See you in Barcelona!”

The phone cuts out and Yuuri is left in the quiet sitting room. May as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's gonna pole dance in the next chapter? (A: Yuuri) Guess who has to wait to read it? (A: You) Guess who's stressing over how to write it? (A: Me)
> 
> So my exams are over (for better or for worse) so I won't have procrastination to drive me to write, but I do have a shit tone of time on my hands so I'll probably write anyway. So look forward to more updates, probably later this week depending on what happens. Dasvidanya!
> 
> PSA: If you have any songs that you think I should incorporate into this fic PLEASE let me know. Literally all my brain can supply is El Tango de Roxanne and while that song is banging I can't keep using only that one song. Help me.


	3. Yuuri the prostitute, Phichit the best bro, and Yuri the character who never does what I tell him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just gonna say that the last thousand words or so of this chapter were supposed to go much differently, but Yuri refused to ask the question I wanted him to and instead did... well, you'll see. Even when he's being written by other people Yuri still does what he wants, when he wants. Ugh. 
> 
> The song Yuuri dances to is El Tango de Roxanne, and you can (maybe) listen to [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egYUpyU-GxU) while you read the dance sequence (I linked it in the text too). I tried to write it so that you could, but I don't know if I succeeded. Honestly, I just really hope it makes sense considering I know next to nothing about actual pole dancing. (My YouTube history is VERY interesting because of this fic, let me tell you.)
> 
> Also, also, also!!! Suuuuper important!!! This fic has a LOVELY fanart [here](http://wordstalktome.tumblr.com/post/154329398577/they-look-up-breaking-off-their-stream-of) by wordstalktome and I literally screamed when I saw it. My younger sister was very concerned. If you wanna see adorable long-haired Yuuri then go and check it out!!
> 
> Warning for fluff and slight OoC ahead. You've been warned.

Alexi is a tall, muscly man that instantly terrifies Yuuri when they first lay eyes on him. But his smile is kid enough, and his eyes dance when they land on Yuuri coming in through the door. “You must be Yuuri, yes? Chris told me you’d be coming in.”

Yuuri smiles nervously and nods, clutching their duffel bag tightly in one hand.

Alexi just laughs, boisterously. “Chris said you were a looker but he really didn’t do you justice, doll.” Alexi winks, and Yuuri flinches despite themselves. It’s an unconscious gesture, but Alexi notices all the same, smile dipping in the corners and tone becoming more serious. “Sorry, darling. Don’t mean to offend or nothing, just picking with ya s’all.” He digs into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a key. “All my solo studios have two poles, soundproof walls, and a door that locks from the inside. I know how nervous some people are about this particular style. Don’t bother me none personally, but I’ve been on the bars for decades. Dancers are the most confident and self-conscious people you’ll ever meet, in my experience.”

Yuuri nods, grateful for the consideration. Alexi’s smile softens. “But look at me, holdin’ you up with my talking on.” He hands the key over. “Here ya go, studio 4, second door to your left. You’ve got it for as long as you want it, darlin’.”

Yuuri smiles and takes the key eagerly. “Thank you.”

Yuuri unlocks the door, flicks on the light, and locks the door closed in a serious of nervous movements that leave their heart hammering.

The studio is quiet and Yuuri takes their time stretching out before pulling on the tight pair of black short-shorts and the tight purple tank top they’d brought to practice in. Their hair is tied up in a simple ponytail, held in place by a handful of elastic ties and a few bobby pins.

It’s been a while since Yuuri was on the poles but when they curl their body around it, running through a few basic moves, it feels like an extension of their body. Yuuri slides to the floor and starts [el Tango de Roxanne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egYUpyU-GxU).

The music starts slow, strumming guitar and chiming piano ringing through the room as Yuuri steps around the pole, feet soft and head tilted ever so slightly towards it. They walk gently for the first few beats, one foot in front of the other, tops of their toes brushing against the floor as they step forward.

When the guitar begins the next few plucked notes, Yuuri’s head rolls in a sensual circle. When it strums the first few bass beats, their hips drop into a soft swing, left leg snapping up to curl around the pole as the violins join in harshly. Their back arcs towards the pole, spine moving in a soft roll against the cool metal as their arms reach up to grab hold. Their right leg kicks forward and flutters at the ankle before kicking forward as Yuuri’s hands slide slightly down, leaving them parallel to the ground.

Their hands slide down the pole and up their body sensually, stroking over the tops of their thighs and the slightly heaving dip of their stomach to cross over their chest. Yuuri bends backwards, flared hands dipping to touch the ground as they bring their free right leg up and into a split, left leg releasing the pole to follow the momentum.

Yuuri follows through with the movement, snapping up to stand straight and stepping up to the pole again, rolling against it and beginning to climb up as the melody shifted to something more staccato, seating themselves tightly around the very top of the pole as the vocals joins in.

_Roxanne_

_You don’t have to put on that red light,_

_Walk the streets for money_

_You don’t care if it’s wrong or if it is right_

And as the very first ‘Roxanne’ growls through the room Yuuri leans back, arms flaring out in a circle, fingers making ‘come hither’ motions as they circle back around to grab hold of the pole, legs kicking out to circle around to one side of the pole, following through with the momentum into a soft spin, body held away from the pole and feet stepping softly on air.

_Roxanne_

_You don’t have to wear that dress tonight_

Yuuri settles back against the pole, pulling up into an upside-down split as they lean back again. One knee wraps around the pole, the other leg bending so that they cross at the ankles as Yuuri releases the pole with their hands, spinning softly around the pole as they begin to run their hands up their body again.

_Roxanne_

_You don’t have to sell your body to the night_

Yuuri blows a kiss to no one as their hands reach their mouth. At this point they’ve slid close enough to the ground to drop suddenly, landing splayed out on the ground as the somber lyrics begin.

_His eyes upon your face_

_His hand upon your hand_

_His lips caress your skin_

_It’s more than I can stand_

Yuuri’s hands stroke over their body, starting at their face and working down, sitting up slowly as they go so that they can reach their toes and as the somber vocals sustain the anguished lines Yuuri wraps their arms around the pole as if for comfort, shoulders lifting and falling in what could be sobs, head bowed as their legs draw up.

_Why does my heart cry?_

Yuuri looks up.

_Feelings I can’t fight_

Quickly, Yuuri scrambles to their feet rushing towards the second pole in the room and leaping into a quick spin around it, feet drawing up and body curling into a ball as they spin around the pole.

_You’re free to leave me, but just don’t deceive me_

Yuuri steps out of the spin and rushes to the back to the first pole, glancing back at the second pole as they begin to climb up, turning to mouth along to the lyrics as they climb.

_And please, believe me when I say I love you_

Yuuri is not portraying the seductive and manipulative Roxanne, or the pure hearted lover who wishes to pull her away from her life of prostitution. Yuuri is the courtesan who wants nothing more than to rush back into her lovers arms but is stuck in the life she lives with no way out.

The song begins its lament in Spanish as Yuuri spins slowly around the first pole, resignation in every move. The spins soft, eyes half lidded with vacancy and not arousal. Yuuri flips upside down, arms flourishing but their wrists are limp rather than fluttering.

As the violins begin to chirp harshly, Yuuri’s movements turn from flaccid to frantic, every spin stilted by Yuuri’s hands reaching towards the second pole, head whipping to look towards it, eyes frantic as Yuuri kicks to speed up their spins.

Yuuri is dizzy with it, which is good because as they near the ground for the last time, Yuuri lets it happen, staggering away from the first pole and collapsing against the second as the music cuts out violently, panting as they drop their head.

* * *

Yuuri is tired when they get back to Lilia’s house, despite how easy it was to get back on the pole, the truth of the matter is that they’d been away for far too long not to leave it with some soreness and a bit of awkward chafing.

To their surprise, Viktor and Yuri are huddled with Yakov and Lilia around the dining room table, having a serious-looking discussion over a large batch of piroshkies.

Yuri beams when Yuuri walks into the dining room. “Yura!” He shouts. “Come here, you have to try this too!” Yuri hands Yuuri a piroshky, face bright as Yuuri takes a bite and hums at how delicious it is. “It’s my grandfather’s new recipe!” Yuri boasts. “Because I told him how much I loved your Katsudon!”

Yuuri is too absorbed in eating the delicious treat to answer verbally but they smile and nod along with Yuri’s announcement until the yummy food is all gone. “They’re delicious,” they say after they’ve swallowed. “Tell your grandfather I said so, too, if it’s no trouble.”

Yuri nods eagerly. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

Viktor chuckles from where he’s seated at the table. “While Yuri here was gushing over snack, we’ve been trying to figure out accommodations for Barcelona.” Viktor looks up at Yuuri. “You’re coming with us this time, right?”

Yuuri doesn’t have to look at him to know that Yuri has turned the full force of his puppy dog – or kitty cat – eyes on them. “Of course,” they say. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Do we know who all will be competing?”

Yakov cleared his throat. “Jean-Jacques Leroy from Canada, Yuri of course, Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan, Christophe Giacometti from Switzerland, Leo de la Iglesia from America, and Phichit Chulanont from Thailand.”

Yuuri blinks. “Oh my,” they say softly. “That’s quite a line-up.”

Yuri smirks. “Yeah, but they’re nothing compared to me! I’ll leave all their asses in the dust, just you watch Yura!”

Lilia scoffs. “Language, you man. It’s not becoming of a prima.” Yuri sneers at her, but she pretends not to notice. “Where were you all day, Yura?”

Yuuri freezes, trying desperately to tamp down the flush fighting to rise to their cheeks. “I went out for a while, change of scenery and all that. Working through some of the kinks of my new routines.”

“Was it helpful?”

Yuuri blinks, surprised. “Yes, I think so.”

Lilia nods. “Then do as you please.”

Yuuri smiles and nods. “Yes of course.” They turn towards the door and dip in a small bow. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit sore. I think I’ll grab a shower and head to bed. Oyasumi.”

Yuuri leaves the room with a chorus of well wishes trailing behind them. Viktor watches them go and can’t help the thoughts that surface.

“That child is one of the most talented and diligent students I’ve ever had the privilege of working with.” Lilia says, almost as an afterthought, as though it’s something she’s wanted to tell them before but never got a chance to, as if it was something they hadn’t already seen for themselves.

“How many routines has Yuuri choreographed thus far?” Yakov asks, curious.

Lilia sighs deeply. “They’ve only asked for my input on about 30 or so routines. But that’s just ballet, and not even all of them. There’s no telling what that child is up to elsewhere.”

Viktor blinks, jaw dropping and eye brows shooting up. “30 routines?! That you know of?!” He can hardly wrap his head around that. “It took me months to choreograph Yuri’s short program!”

Lilia nods. “Yuuri is a prodigy, even if that’s from nothing but passion and dedication. It’s truly a shame that not a single one of their routines will ever be performed in front of an audience.”

Viktor brings a finger to his mouth in thought. “Lilia,” he says slowly. “What would you think about Yura and I co-coaching Yuri next season?”

The reactions to this question are varied. Yakov seems surprised, despite Viktor having already consulted with him. Lilia merely blinks. “Yakov had mentioned that you’d been considering the notion,” she says after a moment of silence. “I support the idea. The two of you work well together from what I’ve seen.”

Yuri, uncharacteristically, says nothing.

* * *

When Yuuri exits the shower, they pull out their phone and open contacts, flopping onto the soft duvet of their bed. The line rings for a few moments before Phichit’s bubbly voice answers in nearly flawless English. The two never really fell out of contact when Yuuri left Detroit, but it’s obvious they’ve both been keeping secrets.

“Phichit!” Yuuri hisses. “Why didn’t you tell me you qualified for the Grand Prix Final!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in Russia with THE Viktor Nikiforov!?” Phichit fires back.

Neither Yuuri nor Phichit are angry, per say, but it’s obvious that they both need a moment.

Yuuri is the first to break the silence, heaving a sigh before the speak. “I’m sorry,” they say quietly, defeated. “But when no one in America would take me, I applied to as many ballet companies as I could. I tried everything! But they all told me to get lost, pretty much.” The flood gates open, tears rising to their eyes as the events of nearly a year ago come rushing in. “Do you know how hard it is to have people tell you that they can’t accept you? That they’d prefer you to dance at 50% of your ability because your 100% doesn’t fit their standards? It’s humiliating! They shipped me here to Russia to learn under Lilia, but she saw what I could do and refused to change my dance style.”

Phichit is quiet as Yuuri heaves a breath to continue, “I’ve been here for a year already, Phichit and I’ve made no headway. I just keep choreographing performances and routines that no one will ever see and,” they break down into hiccupping sobs, taking deep breaths to get it under control. “I couldn’t tell you that, I couldn’t tell you that I was sitting here, doing nothing.”

Phichit is silent for a moment. “Yuuri, you’re not doing nothing,” he says slowly. “You’re training the little Russian Yuri, aren’t you? And besides I know you, Yuuri, you can’t go half a day without putting your feet in some kind of dance studio. Music and dancing are in your blood.”

Yuuri sniffles and smiles. “Thank you, Phichit. I can’t believe I, I just, I’m so sorry.”

Phichit laughs. “You’re my best friend Yuuri, I’m upset that you kept that from me, but I understand why you did it. I’m not mad.” Here, Yuuri can almost hear him beginning to smirk. “But you’re not the only one with news!” He trills. “Gold medal in the Cup of China, baby! I’ve gained so many new followers, you wouldn’t believe, Yuuri!” Before Yuuri can respond, Phichit changes pace. “But that’s not what I really want to talk about.”

“No?” Yuuri is honestly surprised. Phichit almost never changes the subject away from Phichit voluntarily, not because he’s vain or anything, but when Phichit gets rolling on topics he’s passionate about like his skating routines, any musical ever, or the latest social media trends, it’s hard to pull him away.

“I want to know all about you and my favorite Russian darling skater, Victor Nikiforov. What’s the story there? Do you know how often you’ve shown up on his insta? Everyone is trying to figure out who the ‘Japanese cutie’ on Victor’s feed is.” Phichit gasps softly, as if reminded of something, before his tone becomes softly accusing and mercilessly teasing. “Dude, you’ve gotten way better at cooking since you left. You never made me anything half as yummy looking as what Viktor posts.”

Yuuri takes a moment to process this while Phichit continues to gush. “Please don’t tell me there’s a hashtag.”

Phichit absolutely roars with laughter. “There is!” He cries, jubilant. “Hashtag #KatsudonCutie. Probably because you make him Katsudon so much.” There’s a question in Phichit’s tone even if he didn’t expressly ask one. Yuuri doesn’t like where this is going.

Yuuri sputters. “He says it’s his favorite,” they try to defend themselves. “He’ll whine and pout until I make him a bowl! And Yuri is just as bad! I swear they’ve gained so much weight because of me.”

Phichit laughs. “I’ll bet.”

Yuuri groans. “This is ridiculous. I’ll never be able to get away from this, Phichit. The internet will figure it out and it’ll all be over.”

Phichit laughs, but lighter. “Yuuri I wouldn’t worry too hard. The first picture Viktor posted had your name tagged but he changed it as soon as he saw the backlash and I don’t think anyone caught it. Plus, your long hair is a new development – a good one, by the way – so that’ll keep them away for a while. I doubt anyone who knows you will rat on you, especially not those terrible ballet buttholes that want to keep your very existence under wraps. Maybe you need some publicity. Get the people on your side.”

Yuuri hums, thoughtful. “I doubt that would end well. Besides, I want to earn my spot on a program through my own merit, not peer pressure.”

Yuuri can hear Phichit’s smile over the line. “That sounds just like you, Yuuri.” His tone is soft, fond. “But spill! Is Viktor as big a Casanova as people think he is?”

Yuuri laughs, turning over. “Viktor Nikiforov is a giant dork.” And Yuuri goes on to explain why.

“Wait a minute.” Phichit interrupts Yuuri’s rant roughly half an hour later. “Viktor asked you to co-coach, proceeded to kiss you, and then passed out?! Does he remember this?!”

Yuuri groans, stuffing their face in a pillow. “Maybe!? I don’t know?! He hasn’t brought it up yet, either part. But god it’s been destroying me.”

Phichit chuckles. “Okay, first question: Do you like Viktor?”

Yuuri sputters. “What does that have to do with me being his co-coach?!”

“Nothing. I’m ignoring that for now. What I want to know is how you felt after that kiss! Did you like it? Do you want him to forget it? Do you want it to happen again?”

Yuuri blushes despite their best effort not to. “God, Phichit,” they moan. “I don’t know! He was drunk, I was tipsy. I mean, he’s sweet, and he doesn’t seem to mind my style of dance. Sometimes he’ll come into the studio just to watch me practice and we’ll talk about Yuri or what to have for dinner, and it’s nice. He’s open with me, I think. He doesn’t have that media-persona-performance expression on his face whenever he’s with me. It’s nice.”

“And you? Are you yourself around him?”

Yuuri smiles and nods. “I think so, yeah. Sometimes I have to resist the urge to just hug him. I bet he’d be the best size for hugs, you know. Just tall enough that I could fit into him but not so tall as to make me crane my neck too far or get his arms stuck around my head. I bet he’d be warm.” Yuuri’s voice drifts as their thoughts become warm, and fuzzy.

“Yuuri,” Phichit says after a moment. “I think you’ve got it bad.”

Yuuri sighs, wanting to argue but knowing it’s a lost cause. Luckily, Phichit is kind enough to drop the subject and the two talk on the phone for what feels like hours now that Yuuri feels free to talk about the things that they’d been avoiding in all their other calls and messages with Phichit.

“You’ll be coming to Barcelona, right?” Phichit yawns. “Leo wants to take you to a Tango club or something one of his friends told him about when they vacationed last summer. And you owe me a dance! Do you still remember the Shall We Dance routine?”

Yuuri laughs. “How could I ever forget it?”

Phichit joins them. “Good. We’ll get out on the ice while we’re there. We’ll make an evening of it, the three of us.”

“Christophe will want to join,” Yuuri says before they can stop themselves. Phichit pauses.

“You’re in league with Christophe Giacometti?”

Yuuri rushes to explain. “Well, when I was in Switzerland for a little bit I ran into Christophe at an ice rink and… we sort of bonded over a love of… dance.”

“Oh my god, Yuuri, you meanie, how could you not tell me! What happened!?”

“Nothing happened! We danced, that’s all! It was like being on the ice with you, or break dancing with Guang-Hong, or doing the Salsa with Leo!”

“How did it even happen!?”

Yuuri blushes. “We went out for drinks and… I had a few too many.”

“Oh no.”

“Ooh yes.”

“In the middle of the club?”

“In the middle of the club.”

“Please tell me you kept your clothes on.”

“Phichit!!”

Phichit laughs, but sobers quickly. “I know I said I was ignoring it, but what are you going to do about the co-coaching thing, anyway?”

Yuuri pauses and thinks, and then is stuck with a truth so pure and simple. “I… I think I already decided.”

Yuuri can hear Phichit’s smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

After Yakov goes home, and Lilia returns to bed, Yuri and Viktor remain in the dining room. They don’t talk about anything for a long while, both too lost in their own thoughts to pay much attention to the other.

“Hey,” Yuri says softly, eyes not meeting Viktor’s. “Did you mean it, the co-coaching thing?”

Viktor smiles, but it’s not his fake television smile, or his mischievous toddler smile. It’s a gentle thing, something that bloomed on its own without Viktor consciously putting it there. “Yeah,” he says.

Yuri nods, and that’s that. “Do you think Yura would mind?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Mind what?”

“Being my coach.”

Viktor just blinks, for a moment, surprised. “Why would they mind? Yura likes you quite a lot. Loves you, even. And you know that, don’t you?”

Yuri sighs. “I know,” he says. “I know that. But,” His tone grows harsh with exasperation and confusion. “You’ve seen them dance, right?! I can’t take them away from that!! Yura’s dancing shouldn’t be something that has to hide away from the world. Yura could be dancing anywhere – should be dancing in front of audiences of millions, not wasting their time here with me!”

Viktor pauses, for a moment, stunned at Yuri’s outburst. “Yuri…”

Yuri gasps in a big breath, fists clenched and eyes slamming closed as he tries to calm himself down. Viktor’s never seen him this way, never once in all the years Viktor has known him has he ever had a moment of… of doubt this debilitating. Even when faced with the nearly impossible task of skating Agape, Yuri never broke down like this.

Viktor was convinced that the word can’t simply wasn’t in Yuri’s vocabulary.

Apparently, this isn’t the case.

Before Viktor can even begin to respond to Yuri’s words, he’s interrupted by a soft voice in the doorway.

“I believe that where I dance should be my choice, yes?”

Yuri and Viktor both look up to see Yuuri standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of comfortably loose flannel pants and a slightly ratty hoodie. They smile softly at Yuuri as they step into the room, a cup of steaming green tea held in both hands.

“I hope you don’t mind my eavesdropping,” they say. “I just came down for a cup of tea and overheard.” Yuuri takes a sip of the tea, as if to make a point, before setting it down on the table and taking a seat at the head of the table.

Yuri blushes slightly, but doesn’t protest, while Viktor can only smile that soft, afterthought smile as Yuuri takes another sip.

“I thought you went to bed ages ago,” Viktor comments lightly, giving Yuri a moment to collect himself.

Yuuri smiles. “I was on the phone with a friend,” they say. Viktor nods.

Yuri, having calmed down for a moment, eyes Yuuri’s placid smile and sleep heavy eyes. “You really mean that?”

Yuuri’s face brightens like a full moon, a soft glow like the stars on Yuri’s childhood bedroom ceiling. “Of course,” they say. “Just because I could dance anywhere, doesn’t mean I would want to, you know.”

“But you should,” Yuri insists. “You should be dancing in the – the Royal Ballet or something! Not stuck here! Yura, you’re so talented!”

Yuuri flushes, eyes downcast for a moment or so. “Yuri,” they say after a beat of silence. “Sometimes life isn’t fair. Sometimes our dreams don’t come true, and sometimes that’s okay. I’ve done a lot of thinking, while I’ve been here with Lilia and with all of you.” Yuuri looks up. “There are moments when you have to realize that no matter how much you want something, if it doesn’t want you then you’re never going to get it. And that’s okay.”

Yuuri looks right at Yuri as they speak, “I’ve given up on my dreams long ago.”

Yuri and Viktor are both speechless for a moment, weighed down by the heft of Yuuri’s words and the grave nature of their tone.

To their baffled surprise, a soft smile spreads across Yuuri’s face, their eyes slipping closed and crinkling at the corners. “But I’ve found new dreams.”

“What?”

Yuuri practically beams at the two men sitting before them. “I have new dreams now,” they repeat, eagerly. “I dream of dancing with you, and coaching you, and watching you win gold because I know you can and I want nothing else in the world but to make it a reality.”

Yuri feels his eyes sting in the face of this… this… god, he doesn’t have the words.

In a frantic outburst of movement that jolts Viktor out of his thoughts, Yuri leaps out of his seat and rushes at Yuuri, collapsing against them in an unorganized hug that very nearly knocks Yuuri’s tea into their lap. “I’ll win,” Yuri promises against the soft fabric of Yuuri’s shoulder, arms holding tight against their body. “I’ll win gold, I’ll beat Viktor’s records” – Viktor protests this, but is ignored – “I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

Yuuri chuckles softly, arms holding Yuri against them gently, smoothing one hand down Yuri’s back while the other cradles the back of his head. “Yuri, you’ll always make me proud no matter who you beat or what you place. You make me proud just by being yourself.”

A sharp sniffle echoes through the room and Yuri nuzzles further into Yuuri’s shoulder, practically on their lap in the chair. Yuuri’s smile is soft as they look down at him and stays that way as their eyes rise to meet Viktor’s. “In case I haven’t made myself clear,” they say hesitantly. “I accept the co-coaching position.”

The sniff this time is of amusement, and a smile rises to Viktor’s face unbidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for the wonderful response this fic has gotten so far! I'm so gad you guys enjoy my procrastination fueled, heavily self-indulgent creation. 
> 
> Warning, though, this is the last of what I have written on my word document thus far but that just means it's gonna take me a little longer to get the next chapter written and put up here because I'll be working from scratch when usually I had a few thousand words already written when I would post new chapters. This DOES NOT that this fic is over. Very important. HOPEFULLY I'll post the next chapter within a week. It might take a LITTLE bit longer but it just depends on how busy I get in the coming days with Christmas and family and my exams being over and therefore no procrastination motivation. Love You!
> 
> Oh, and since I forgot to add it earlier, and if anyone cares, my tumblr is [here](zadabug98.tumblr.com)!


	4. Introducing Yuuri Katsuki's Harem of Hot Men and Viktor's Varying Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People meet in person. Yuuri wears a skirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo! Thank you so much to everyone who has bookmarked, kudos-ed, commented, and even read this fic. It's so wonderful to see such a great response and I hope you enjoy this chapter too!! 
> 
> Warning for literally fluff so sweet you'll need a dentist after this chapter and Christophe Giacometti's dirty, dirty brain. 
> 
> Note: the song used later is Shall We Dance from The King and I, a pretty great musical if I'm honest and one of the few I've seen live. I'll link it when it comes up (hopefully it'll work). 
> 
> Enjoy!!!!

The trip to Barcelona is uneventful at best, and VERY uneventful at worst. Yuuri soon realizes that an extremely bored Viktor means an extremely mischievous Viktor, and they have to stop their movie eight times to rescue him from the flight attendants. There’s only so many times that a grown man can knock on the cockpit door asking ‘are we there yet?’ before charming and adorable becomes flat out annoying.

One time is, apparently, the limit.

A fear of heights has Yuri in a medically induced cat nap for the entire flight with headphones over his ears blaring music for good measure so at least he’s calm and quiet, but Yuuri just can’t wait until they land and he finds the kitty whiskers Viktor doodled on his face during hour two of the flight.

Lucky for Yuuri, though, it’s only a four-hour flight and they’re landing in El Prat airport before any of the flight attendants decide to buckle Viktor into his seat by force.

Also lucky for Yuuri, Yuri is too drowsy from the medication to notice the kitty whiskers until they’ve checked into their hotel. Which means that Yuuri can lock their door and shove a pillow over their face to block out the noise of violent screaming in Russian going on next door.

After about an hour or so the screaming calms down and there’s a soft knock on the door. “Hold on a moment,” Yuuri calls as they stand slowly and unlock the door. Yuri is on the other side, face rubbed pink but clear of shaky black whiskers.

“Viktor is an idiot,” he mutters as he gently moves past Yuuri and into the hotel room. All three of them got separate rooms, so there’s just the one queen sized bed. Yuri flops onto it, obviously still working off the drugs. Yuuri doubts expending all that energy chasing Viktor around helped any.

“Where is Viktor?” Yuuri asks as they sit on the edge of the bed near Yuri, reaching out to finger-comb a few small tangles out of Yuri’s hair. Yuri all but purrs, moving so that his head is pillowed on Yuuri’s thigh. They’re wearing a t-shirt and sweats, having not changed out of the outfit they wore for the flight.

Yuri’s voice is muffled, but Yuuri hears him loud and clear when he says, “He went to go meet with Chris.”

Yuuri hums. Figures. They just hope the two of them don’t get into any trouble this early on.

The second they think that, the door to their room busts open and Viktor comes running in, Chris right at his heels. “Chris you must meet my darling, light of my life, epitome of all things good and pure, the one and only-”

Thankfully, Viktor’s schpeel is cut short by Chris suddenly shouting, “Tiny Dancer!”

Yuuri sighs, fingers still combing gently through Yuri’s hair as the younger man watches with cat-like focus. “Hello, Christophe,” they say. “How are you?”

Yuuri sees Viktor’s gob-smacked expression out of the corner of their eye but they pay him no heed as Christophe saunters towards them and runs a hand down their hair where it hangs loose around their shoulders due to the traveling. “Why, Tiny Dancer, you let your hair grow out! I’m so glad you did, I was right, you know, it looks absolutely delicious.” He tilts back to glance at Viktor, fingers still fiddling with the ends of Yuuri’s hair. “Don’t you think so Viktor?”

Viktor blinks, opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Yuuri rolls their eyes and gently pulls their hair away from Christophe’s fingers. “Don’t do that, you’ll tangle it,” they chide.

Christophe giggles and smiles. “So shy, Tiny Dancer. It’s not like I haven’t touched much more intimate parts of you than your hair.” Christophe runs a hand down Yuuri’s face slowly, and a blush rises to their cheeks with a vengeance.

“Ch-Christophe!” They protest, using both hands to bat him away this time. “Stop that! It’s not like that and you know it!”

Christophe sighs and pouts, almost whining as he speaks. “It’s never ‘like that’ with you, Yuuri, always such a tease.”

Yuuri huffs out a sigh, narrowing their eyes before breaking into a smile. “Congratulations on making it to the Final, Christophe,” they say. “Though I’m afraid you won’t be getting gold this year, either.”

“Oh?” Christophe smiles, glancing down at where Yuri is watching him and then glancing to where Viktor is basically combusting. “We’ll see about that.”

Yuuri smiles as Christophe smirks, turning on his heel. “Come now, Viktor! The pool in this hotel is divine!”

Christophe grabs Viktor by the arm and drags him out of the room, remembering to shout over his shoulder to Yuuri right before the door closes. “Don’t forget, you owe me a dance at the 208!”

The room is cast back into silence for a few beats before it’s broken by Yuri. “Isn’t the 208 a strip club?”

Yuuri pauses before ruffling their hands through Yuri’s hair roughly. “How do you know that!?”

* * *

On the other side of the wall, Viktor changes into his swimsuit on autopilot and Christophe giggles as he watches him. “Usually, I wouldn’t object to the free show,” he says. “But it’s obvious there’s something on your mind, Viktor.”

Viktor blinks and suddenly realizes he’s stark naked with his swim trunks around his knees. Christophe is smiling behind him, eyes closed, but it’s obvious by his tone that this is a new development. Viktor pulls his trunks on quickly, fighting a flush of embarrassment. Not at being seen nude by Chris of all people, no, it’s simply rude to zone out like that.

Or so he tells himself, at least.

“What’s got you so thoughtful all of a sudden, Viktoli?”

Before he can stop himself, Viktor asks, “How do you know Yura?”

Christophe blinks his eyes open, head tilting to the side. “You mean Yuuri?” Viktor nods and Christophe’s teasing smile turns softer. “Ah, we ran into each other in Switzerland. Had a few drinks, a couple dances.” He sighs, nostalgic. “Yuuri could crush a man’s head with those thighs, did you know that?”

Viktor merely shrugs and brushes past Christophe as he leaves the room, heading up to this supposedly divine swimming pool. It’s winter, but he’s Russian, so whatever.

“Hurry up, Christophe, and I’ll take as many Instagram pictures for you as you want.”

Christophe cries with joy and races to catch up, chatting a mile a minute while Viktor merely nods or gives one word answers.

He has a lot to think about.

* * *

Since it’s roughly twenty degrees warmer in Barcelona than it is in St. Petersburg, Yuuri forgoes their usual layers of leggings and thick jeans for a pair of thick black tights and an ice-blue knee-length circle skirt with layers of fabric underneath that make it poof out and swish when they walk. They’re still wearing one of their favorite sweaters though; a gray number with lantern sleeves and the cuffs and collar like that of a white button-up blouse. They finish the look with a pair of simple gray suede ankle boots and thick white leg warmers.

It’s a free day, since Yuri wanted to get to Barcelona early and avoid jetlag interfering with his performance. The Grand Prix events won’t start for a few more days, which gives the three of them time to explore the city.

Yuuri begins to wonder if everyone else had this idea too, because when they inevitably end up in an ice skating rink, Yuuri sees none other than Phichit and Leo skating circles around each other as if they were children out on the ice for the first time and not Grand Prix Finalists.

Viktor doesn’t seem surprised to see fellow competitors at the rink, so maybe this is normal. Or, more likely, Viktor simply doesn’t remember the other skaters well enough to put names to their faces.

Either way, none of it matters when Phichit turns around and spots Yuuri standing at the barrier, holding Viktor and Yuri’s skate guards while the two Russians warm up with a few laps around the surprisingly vacant rink.

“Yuuri!” Phichit shouts, and suddenly comes barreling towards the barrier Yuuri is leaned up against, nearly plowing straight into the wall in his enthusiasm. Instead, he simply plows straight into Yuuri, latching onto their shoulders across the thick barrier and hopping up and down as well as he can manage while still being on the ice.

“Phichit!” Yuuri mumbles against his shoulder in English slightly accented from disuse, taking a wheezing breath. “This is really uncomfortable.”

Phichit laughs and hugs tighter, “I don’t care! I haven’t seen you in ages! I’m collecting all the hugs you owe me!”

Leo skates up to the pair, slowly coming to a stop and laying a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Yuuri.” He says.

Yuuri smiles at Leo over Phichit’s shoulder and nods as best they can. “You too.”

Phichit suddenly detaches from around Yuuri, beaming brightly. “You know what this means, right?!”

Yuuri shakes their head, but it’s futile. Phichit is already barreling ahead, pulling out his phone and scrolling through menus to find what he wants. Without warning he thrusts the phone at Leo. “Here, go in the office and have them play track 5 over the big speakers.”

Leo blinks, taking the phone gingerly. “Uh, sure.”

While Leo skates away to get his guards and find the office, Phichit turns back to Yuuri. “Hand me my guards and let’s go rent you some skates.”

Yuuri wants to protest, tries to throughout the whole process of finding shoe rentals and explaining to the young lady that yes, they need that size in men’s. But in the end, Yuuri did promise Phichit a dance and, if they’re honest with themselves, they want to get out on the ice with him. They haven’t ice danced with a partner since they left Detroit and there’s only so much you can do solo.

It isn’t until they get back to the rink that they realize the issue with this plan.

“Yura!” Viktor cries when they step through the door to the main rink. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, you disappeared!”

Yuri rushes up to them, concern written all over his face, but it switches to confusion when his eyes land on the skates Yuuri’s wearing. Yuri’s eyes flick up to Yuuri’s face, the question unspoken but clear.

Phichit, one step behind Yuuri and overlooked because of the two others’ concern, decides to speak up. “We just went to rent Yuuri here a pair of skates!” He chirps, unaware that Yuuri hasn’t really made it clear that they even knew how to skate.

Before either Viktor or Yuuri can question this, Leo rushes back over to them, steps clanking loudly. “The office has the track, cue them when you’re ready.” He sees the two Russians and pauses, coming to a slow stop a few steps away from his friends. “Oh, hi.”

Always the gentleman, Leo steps forward and sticks out a hand. “I’m Leo de la Iglesia, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

Recognition flashes in both Yuri and Viktor’s eyes as Yuri shakes his hand. “Yuri Plisetsky.”

Viktor steps forward to shake as well. “Viktor Nikiforov.”

Phichit giggles. “We know who YOU are,” he says, drawing attention back to himself. “Phichit Chulanont.” He waves at the two Russians, smiling big. “I’m Yuuri’s best friend and, if you’ll excuse us, my dear friend here owes me a dance.”

Yuri glances at Phichit’s face, understanding dawning. So this is the Thai roommate from America. Okay.

Phichit leads Yuuri onto the ice with minimal sputtering on their part, but Viktor is left in a slight daze.

“How many figure skaters does Yura know, exactly?” Yuri asks, quickly replacing his shock with curiosity.

“I wasn’t aware they knew anyone else besides us,” Viktor responds, brain flashing error signals as he watches Yuuri and Phichit skate out to the center of the ice.

“Yuuri knows a lot of skaters,” Leo supplies from beside them, making them jump. “Myself, Phichit, a Chinese skater named Guang-Hong who didn’t make it to the Final, Christophe Giacometti apparently, there’s no telling who else though.” Leo smiles slightly, eyes soft. “They don’t realize it, but there’s something about Yuuri that draws people in.”

Yuri nods knowingly, stepping up to the barrier. There’s a lot about Yuuri that he doesn’t know, apparently. But it’s not intimidating information, simply enlightening.

The other two follow him, and it’s obvious that Viktor is still trying to put two and two together to make four. “But, Yuuri never told us they could figure skate.” It’s not a question, per say, but Viktor’s confusion makes the sentence tilt up at the end, adding a whining quality to the statement that makes Yuri want to punch him.

Leo just sighs. “Technically, they don’t. From what I know, Yuuri’s been skating since they were little. But it’s not figure skating, per say.” The music starts up, soft chords ringing through the air but not enough to cover up Leo’s next words, “As with anything Yuuri does, they just dance.”

* * *

Yuuri and Phichit circle around to a stop in the center of the rink and bow to each other as [the song](https://youtu.be/Cu7eaFJ-fIk?t=20) begins.

_We’ve just been introduced, I do not know you well,_

Yuuri begins to skate in simple steps, hands behind their back as the woman on the track sings coyly. Phichit follows, mimicking Yuuri’s step sequence with obvious hesitance, though Viktor knows it’s a staged sort of hesitation, meant to imply that Phichit is following Yuuri’s lead.  

_But when the music started something drew me to your side_

_So many men and girls are in each other’s arms_

_It made me think we might be similarly occupied_

Yuuri skates to a stop as the final note is sustained by the female singer.

_Shall we dance?_

_On a bright cloud of music_

Yuuri sets off into a lively dance with an imaginary partner, hopping on their toe picks and sliding into twizzle sequences, the long braid of their hair twirling along behind them.

_Shall we fly?_

They slide into a single salchow jump, giving the illusion that the imaginary partner had lifted them into the air.

_Shall we dance?_

_Shall we then say goodnight and mean goodbye?_

Yuuri skates away from their imaginary partner, swirling into a combination of dizzying spins as Phichit skates around them, mimicking some of the moves that Yuuri had just done while adding in a few axel jumps and salchows.

_Or per chance, when the last little star has left the sky_

_Shall we still be together with our arms about each other_

_And shall you be my new romance_

_On the clear understanding that this kind of thing can happen_

_Shall we dance, shall we dance, shall we dance_

The interlude begins, the characters on the track narrating as Yuuri and Phichit dance around each other, gesticulating and smiling as Yuuri teaches Phichit the proper movements and the two begin to skate around each other, hands held together but out in front of them, so that they’re separated. Phichit stumbles, but Yuuri is forgiving as they twirl and spin and dance.

When the tone of the music changes, and the characters’ voices change as well, Phichit stops and draws Yuuri into his arms. 

They then begin to dance in earnest, sliding along the ice in sync as their characters sing on, Phichit lifting Yuuri up into his arms as they spin around, barely separated by inches at any given moment. It’s a striking shift into an intimacy that Viktor hadn’t expected.

He watches them move with rapt attention, it’s not like any ice dancing he’s ever seen before. The emphasis is placed on story, the interactions between Phichit and Yuuri authentic on a level that exceeds dance partners. He watches Phichit raise Yuuri into a rotational lift, Yuuri’s back bent over Phichit’s shoulder and his hand braced on Yuuri’s thigh.

Viktor remembers the first time he saw a ballet. A funny thought to have while watching the dance in front of him, but one he doesn’t stop. He remembers being young and seeing the Nutcracker for the first time, watching the Snow Queen glide across the stage in a string of chaine turns and marveling at the way that she had made gravity and friction look like mere suggestions rather than universal laws. As if such a thing were for lesser mortals and she was above them all.

He remembers that moment every time he sees Yuuri dance, and he remembers it now, too.

Before Viktor knows it the song has ended and Yuuri and Phichit are drawn together in a soft hug in the center of the ice. Leo is applauding beside him. Yuri is already skating towards the pair as they separate, hands still held between them.

Viktor follows after his student, thoughts a million miles away.

“That was beautiful, Yura!” He hears Yuri say as they approach. “Why didn’t you tell us you could ice dance?”

Yuuri flushes, a familiar fidgeting energy overcoming them as their hands knot in the top layer of their skirt. “Oh, uh,” they say, “It never really, came up?”

They’re uncertain, hesitant and nervous like they were for the first few weeks that Yuri and Viktor knew them. It’s refreshing to see this side of Yuuri again, but not something Viktor can call pleasant.

“We’re not mad you kept it from us,” Viktor quickly supplies in an attempt to calm them down. “Though now that I’ve seen you ice dance I can’t say that I don’t want to see it again.” His smile is a soft thing, but he tempers it into something he hopes is encouraging and reassuring.

Yuuri returns the smile, hands dropping from their skirt to knot behind their back.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Yuri says, but it’s unclear whether he’s directing it at Yuuri or Viktor because in the next second he’s pulling Yuuri into a gentle glide as the music over the speakers switches to something soft that Viktor thinks might be the Waltz of the Flowers. Phichit looks to Viktor’s left where Leo is sliding to a stop.

“You didn’t tell me to play only that song,” he says to the unspoken question Phichit is obviously asking with his eyes.

Phichit just laughs and smiles, turning to catch up to where Yuuri and Yuri are running through a basic step sequence along with the music, laughing as they click blades and bump into each other. Phichit all but glomps onto Yuuri, pulling them into a spin as Yuri shouts swears in Russian that only Yuuri chides him for.

Leo turns to Viktor and smiles before skating over to join the group. The four of them dance with each other, mostly just passing Yuuri between partners and failing at synchronizing step sequences.

Viktor watches with a smile on his face before nearly being run over by the group as they chase after a rogue Yuuri, having gone flying away after a mistimed release from a very fast spin with Leo.

Viktor catches them easily, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s middle and slowing them both down with a laugh. “May I have this dance?” He asks with a smile as he steps into a slow glide, Yuuri catching on easily.

“Of course,” Yuuri responds with a mock-serious tone to match his, following Viktor’s lead easily.

As the song continues on so do they, dancing in simple sequence and slow twizzles. Viktor even manages to cue Yuuri into his arms in a rotating lift, spinning slow circles along the ice as Yuuri’s skirt billows around them.

It’s a gentle thing, and Viktor tries not to think too hard about it, about Yuuri and Christophe and Leo and Phichit and ice dancing. About the things he knows about Yuuri and the things he has yet to discover.

None of those things have a place here, in this moment, with Yuuri’s breathless smile echoing in his mind and the soft fabric of their sweater against the palm of his hand. He can feel the soft skin of their hands on his, thumbs brushing his neck and back and shoulders as they shift around each other, moving as separate beings in a dance that brings them together as one.

He wonders if this is what that Snow Queen had felt like. As though gravity and friction merely became a suggestion, one he didn’t have to listen to, one he could deny with every fiber of his being and every placement of his feet. He became that Snow Queen – no, wait that wasn’t right.

Viktor blinks and, in that moment of clarity sees Yuuri’s face bright like the light of the moon on a blanket of freshly fallen snow, hair glittering under the bright lights of the rink as if peppered with fractals of frost.

No, in this moment Viktor is not the star. He is not the world-famous figure skater, five-time gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov. In this moment, Yuuri Katsuki is the Snow Queen, and Viktor is nothing more than their Cavalier. A nameless knight to help his liege keep their balance and to exalt them in ever lift and dip.

Viktor lifts Yuuri once more, their body hard and heavy with muscle and yet Viktor has never held anything in his hands as delicate as Yuuri’s ankle or as soft as Yuuri’s thigh. Both of their skin is cold from the chill of the ice rink and yet Viktor cannot think of any other time when he was this warm.

Yuuri feels it in the way he holds them, in the fragile strength of his hand around their waist. They feel weightless in this moment, as though by some force of magic Viktor has plucked them from the ice and they’re really dancing on a cloud of air, the both of them.

They feel fragile and delicate in a way that they’ve never felt before, even while up on pointe, crystals in their hair and tulle around their waist. Such weightlessness always felt temporary to them, false in the way that only performances put on behind closed doors can feel.

But this dance feels like a breath of fresh air, the first truth in a life filled to the brim with lies. Yuuri breathes in the cold, damp air of the ice rink, tinged with chemicals and the lingering hint of sweat and feet. It feels like breathing in the first breath of spring, full of new things and the undying truths of the world.

Yuuri leaps into Viktor’s lift, feeling free and beautiful and unashamed and – oh.

That’s the thing they never tell you about being ignored, about practicing behind closed doors, about constantly being told ‘no’. Eventually, you come to believe it. You come to believe that what you are is something that should be hidden, that what you are is something to be ashamed of.

And yet, Viktor holds them like they’re worth something. As if he knows what it is to feel like a snowflake crushed beneath a child’s boot and believe that’s where you belong.

Viktor’s hands around Yuuri’s ankle feel like a support, a stepping stone rather than a shackle. So Yuuri jumps, and Yuuri leaps, and Yuuri falls.

But Viktor is there to catch them, twirling them around as though perhaps they’re both blind to the world around them.

Yuuri blinks, a moment of clarity revealing Viktor’s face, eyes shining like the clear water of their family hot springs, hair glittering silver in a way that makes Yuuri want to wind a strand around their wrist and keep it forever. A strange thought, surely, but Yuuri ignores that, ignores all thoughts that don’t marvel at the beauty of Viktor’s cheekbones and lips.

Ah, Yuuri thinks as they trail their palm along that soft, soft skin. Of course.

Their eyes slip closed and their held tilts back as they relax in Viktor’s hold. Of course. Here, Yuuri doesn’t need to worry about truths and lies. Here, the cast of the story is already set and Yuuri need not worry about being stuck as something they’re not.

Because in this story, the story of Viktor and Yuuri and the ice rink in Barcelona, the Prince of the tale is Viktor. So Yuuri relaxes, and lets themselves be who they want. They are the princess of this story, or perhaps a second prince, or perhaps both, or perhaps neither.

It matters not to Yuuri, Viktor will take them either way.

* * *

 

Had the two not been absolutely absorbed with one another, they probably would have noticed when the song changed the first time, or the second time, or the third time. They may have noticed Phichit sending Leo a thumbs up after he “accidentally” sent Yuuri flying into Viktor’s arms. They might even have noticed Phichit taking photographs and videos of them dancing together.

But even if they hadn’t been absorbed with one another, they most certainly would not have noticed the small smile that bloomed on Yuri’s face as the fourth song changed to the fifth.

* * *

 “Are you going to post any of those?” Leo asks as the song changes once more, eyes never leaving the pair still swirling around on the ice.

Phichit snorts. “Who do you think I am?” he asks, eyes flicking to Leo and then back towards his phone. “Obviously, as Yuuri’s best friend, I have a duty.” Leo nods, but it’s quite possible he’s misunderstood the meaning when Phichit continues. “So, obviously I’m only going to post the ones where they look absolutely fabulous.” He coos as he examines the latest photo, flipping between filters.

“You’re on insta?” Yuri asks from Phichit’s other side. “What’s your username?”

Phichit lists it off without looking up from the phone and a few seconds later it notifies him of a new follower. After he posts the picture he clicks the notification and follows the little Yuri back.

“You have a twitter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it to the end!!!! (Of this chapter, not this story, obviously. We've got a grand prix to win and a relationship status to resolve!)
> 
> I almost waited to post this chapter until later in the week because I wasn't really confident about the characterization and dance sequence but honestly, after seeing today's episode I just couldn't hold onto it any longer, despite how much I wasn't sure about it. But again, the next chapter should be out by this time next week depending on how busy I get over the weekend and in the next few days. Hopefully you guys'll be patient with me.
> 
> Again, thank you for your fabulous responses. Everyone in this fandom is so freaking talented (I binged so many AMVs the other day it's ridiculous) so if any of you make any art or anything at all for this story please link me at my tumblr, zadabug98.tumblr.com. Love you!


	5. Tango for Two, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls are made, tangos are danced, sorry for the short chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so, so, so, so much for your AMAZING responses to this fan fic so far. Your support is so wonderful and I literally would not be able to find inspiration for this fic without you guys. If you've left a comment and I haven't responded to you personally, I'm sorry. I'm an awkward bean who doesn't always know how to accurately communicate the gibberish of happy feelings that you guys' comments give me. Know that I appreciate every single one of you.
> 
> That said, I have to apologize because this chapter is only half of what you're used to. I know, I'm sorry, I really wanted to have 4,000 words for you guys but my holiday season got super busy with parties and festivities and my great-aunt died on Christmas Eve so funerary stuff, too. Plus, I'm having a lot of trouble with what was going to be the second half of this chapter and it just really needs a lot of work to not be the hot mess that it currently is.
> 
> As always, the song used in the dance sequence will be linked when it comes up, thank you to the lovely Alita for recommending this song to me, it's super pretty. (If you've left a song/music rec I promise I've seen it and will do my best to incorporate it into the story) 
> 
> Without further ado, Chapter.... 5... is this 5? *scrolls up a bit* Yup, 5. Enjoy!

The ice dancing comes to an abrupt end when Viktor’s stamina finally loses out against Yuuri’s and he drops them mid-lift. They both go sprawling across the ice, frantically trying to make sure that neither of them cut the other with the blades of their skates by accident.

Yuri is the first to arrive to the dog pile and, to absolutely no one’s surprise, trips over Viktor’s frantically flailing right leg and goes toppling over both Viktor and Yuuri to land on top of the pile. There’s a moment of still silence, filled only by the occasional not-so innocent click of Phichit’s camera phone.

After Phichit and Leo finally manage to get everyone off the ice and they’re all finishing changing into their shoes, Viktor’s stomach rumbles. Yuuri looks up from where they’re adjusting their leg warmers and smiles. “I suppose the next order of business should be getting something to eat, hm?”

The other four laugh, Viktor included, and just as they’re about to decide between trying the local cuisine or grabbing fast food, Viktor’s phone rings.

“Hello?” Viktor answers in English, unsure of who’s on the other end. “Oh, hi Yakov,” he then says in Russian and everyone quiets down around him. Yuuri and Yuri blink in surprised concern when Viktor’s eyebrows lift.

“How long is the delay?” Viktor says hurriedly, glancing up at Yuuri and Yuri. “Is there no other available flight?”

Viktor hums a few times, muttering over the line before sighing deeply, mouth pinched in a frown. “Don’t worry, Yakov,” he says. “Yuuri and I can handle it.” With that he hangs up the phone and turns to his rapt audience, the tension in the room palpable.

“Yakov and Lilia’s flight got cancelled because of a sudden freak blizzard,” he says. “There’s no available flights that would get them here in time, and there’s no telling when their original flight will be able to take off.”

“I was wondering why they weren’t with you guys,” Phichit says softly after a moment. “They’re technically little Yuri’s coaches, right?”

Viktor nods. “He and Lilia are the coaches listed on the official records.”

“They were supposed to fly in tomorrow so that they’d be here in time for the Final,” Yuuri murmurs, voice hitching ever so slightly. “What are we going to do without them here?”

Yuri, despite the obvious despair floating around his companions’ heads, merely snorts. “That’s a dumb question,” he says, and suddenly all eyes are on him. He glances from one face to the other, resting finally on Viktor and Yuuri. “Seriously? Despite what the documents say, you two have been the ones really coaching me through this whole thing. Yakov always has plenty of other skaters to worry about, plus Lilia’s always gone doing whatever the hell it is she does. This is literally nothing out of the ordinary.”

Yuuri snorts at this, thinking to themselves that of course Yuri would be nonplussed even at this. They turn to Viktor, eyes sparkling ever so slightly, “Will we have to change anything with the event coordinators?” they ask. “Let them know there’s been a coaching change or something?” Yuuri’s anxieties begin to surface as more and more questions pop into their head like bubbles in a freshly poured soda just about ready to overflow. “Will they even let us in with Yuri if Yakov and Lilia aren’t there to vouch for us?”

Phichit, recognizing an attack coming on, rests a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, pushing down with enough force to make his presence known but not too much as to hurt. Yuuri takes a breath, focusing on the pressure and centering their thoughts once more.

Viktor glances at Phichit’s hand on their shoulder but doesn’t comment, instead standing and gathering his things. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I should probably go and check.”

“I’ll go with you,” Yuuri begins to protest, reaching out a hand to grab at the hem of Viktor’s coat.

“I should be able to handle this on my own, Yura,” Viktor says, grabbing their hand in his gently before it reaches its destination. “Stay here with Yuri and your friends. It shouldn’t take long.”

Yuuri opens their mouth to insist, but the breath dies in their throat when Viktor brings their hand up to his mouth and places a quick and almost absentminded kiss to the back of it before releasing it and turning to stride quickly out the door. “I’ll call you,” he shoots over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

Yuuri sits there dumbly for what feels like hours, staring at the place where Viktor had just stood.

Phichit whistles. “Damn,” he says.

* * *

In the wake of this change, Yuuri is too frazzled to pay attention to the conversation happening between their three other companions as they make their way to a local restaurant. They can’t stop fiddling with their phone, turning the screen off and then on again, opening and closing various messenger apps, waiting for Viktor to call or text and tell them that everything is fine, that everything is taken care of. Frankly at this point Yuuri doesn’t even care if he calls to tell them that they’re all being deported back to Russia. Yuuri just really, really needs Viktor to call.

“It’ll be fine,” Leo says softly to Yuuri’s right. They glance up to see that Phichit and Yuri are engaged in a rather passionate looking conversation a few paces in front of them.

“I know,” Yuuri says quietly, eyes darting back to their phone screen. “I’m just…”

“Worried?”

Yuuri hums, but that’s all the answer Leo needs. “Hey, guys!” He calls to the two in front and they turn around to face him. “I think I know a place we can go eat, it’s just around the corner.”

“Thank god,” Yuri gripes, falling back to allow Leo to lead. “I’m starving.”

“What you are is depraved,” Phichit supplies snidely and Yuuri would be surprised at that kind of tone coming from their best friend, but when Yuri hisses back about the superiority of feline cuteness compared to that of hamsters, they wonder why they aren’t.

* * *

 The restaurant they end up in is pleasant, moderately priced and exceptionally delicious. The table is nearly silent with how engrossed they all are in their food. The venue itself is charming as well, high ceilings and bright, twinkling lights. There’s a large space in the center of the room where the plush carpets change to dark hardwood flooring and soft music circles through the room as pairs swirl across the floor in a variety of steps and dips.

“Is this the Tango place you were talking about, Leo?” Phichit says after putting his fork down on his nearly licked clean plate.

Leo hums, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “Yeah. We happened to be in the neighborhood so I figured,” he shrugs, “what the hay.”

Phichit giggles, gesturing to the dance floor. “What are you waiting for, then? Show ‘em how it’s done, you two.”

* * *

The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdLaRE3cuhg) that comes on when they step onto the floor starts boldly before decrescendo-ing into bouncy guitar and sweeping string instruments. Yuuri lets themselves be gathered into Leo’s arms in follow position, the hold only slightly awkward because Yuuri is a good three to four inches taller than Leo with their heels on.

It’s nothing they both aren’t used to though, and Yuuri drapes their left arm across Leo’s shoulders while Leo’s left arm circles around Yuuri’s mid-back. Their right hands are held loosely together, Yuuri’s in Leo’s, and they press together comfortably but not quite intimately.

As the sweeping melody of the music washes over them, Yuuri’s weight shifts to the balls of their feet, sweeping and stepping as they follow Leo’s gentle lead across the floor.

Tango is the perfect dance to center, in Yuuri’s opinion. As a follower and not a leader, Yuuri needs only listen to the rhythm of the music and the gentle nudge of Leo’s cues, letting all other thoughts and worries melt down their spine to their feet to be stamped down into the dancefloor, never to be seen again.

The music shifts from gentle to triumphant, and Yuuri follow’s Leo’s lead as they pick up the pace to match it, legs twining and twisting together and apart, sliding across the floor. Yuuri feels weightless and supported in a way that’s comfortable and familiar, but they’ve never been more aware of the centimeters separating their torso from Leo’s chest. They wonder why that’s important, mind flashing to the warm plane of Viktor’s chest against theirs.

The music calms again, and their steps do the same.

Dancing with Leo is just dancing, following the motions of Leo’s body and matching his movements with their own. Leo’s hands are guidance, assurance, but they don’t speak to Yuuri with the depth and emotion that Viktor’s had and, in turn, Yuuri says nothing with their body either. Leo’s hands on their body say ‘follow me, calm down, it’ll be okay’ but they don’t sing sonnets the way Viktor’s had, they don’t linger over Yuuri’s shoulders or caress the skin of Yuuri’s palm.

It’s fun to dance with Leo, of course. It’s relaxing and soothing, and Yuuri finds themselves smiling with Leo as he sweeps them into an over-dramatic dip as the music crescendos again, both of their eyes bright with laughter as Yuuri steps away into a series of jokingly coy spins and steps as Leo follows them.

Yuuri spins back into Leo’s hold, and the skin against their palm is warm, the hair tickling their ear is soft, and it’s nice and all, but it doesn’t feel quite right. 

Leo guides Yuuri into a simple dip, one of Yuuri’s legs wrapped around Leo’s waist while the other lifts from the ground to raise a pointed toe into the air.

Yuuri couldn’t ask for a better dance partner than Leo, really. He’s a skilled dancer, a confident and gentle leader.

But with Viktor, with Viktor it had been something more.

The song ends triumphantly, Leo guiding Yuuri through a series of turns before settling them both into a final dip.

After a few seconds a thunderous applause echoes through the dining room and Yuuri rights themselves to see that they are the only pair on the dancefloor and have captured the attention of not only the entire dining room, but several members of the wait-staff as well.

Yuuri flushes bright crimson, ducking down as several diners call for an encore.

Leo lifts a brow, holding out his hand in invitation for a second dance, but as the next song begins to play – a soft, sensual love song with a thrumming bass and smokey vocals – Yuuri knows they simply can’t. They shake their head ever so slightly and head back to the table.

“It seems even your stamina must run out eventually,” Phichit remarks when they finally get back to their table.

Yuuri glances at Phichit’s smile and flushes, glad that Phichit has mistaken their reluctance to dance for exhaustion instead of… whatever is really going on inside their head. “Yeah, I guess.”

They look down, hands fumbling with the hem of their sweater as they mull over their thoughts. Suddenly they feel more anxious coming off the dance floor than they did stepping on it.

Yuuri pulls out their phone quickly, and upon seeing numerous missed calls from Viktor, rockets out of their seat, heading towards the door. “I’ll be bak,” they announce over their shoulder to the table, “I just need to call Viktor back,” but they don’t wait for a response before heading outside to the alleyway beside the restaurant. 

Just as they’re about to dial Viktor’s number, the phone rings and his caller ID flashes on the screen. It’s a picture of him, asleep on the floor of Lilia’s ballet studio, the day Yuri had decided Viktor would look lovely with glittery eyeshadow and absolutely deadly winged eyeliner. It makes them smile even now as Yuuri accepts the call and raises the phone to their ear.

“Viktor, I’m so sorry I missed your calls!” they all but shout into the receiver in hasty Russian as Viktor’s voice fills their ear, “Yura thank god, I was getting so worried are you okay?!”

Yuuri takes a breath. “Yes, I’m fine. And you, are you alright!?”

Viktor laughs softly, blowing out a breath before he speaks, “Yes, yes, I’m fine too.” Yuuri smiles gently, cradling the phone against their face as they feel the worry melt away.

“Good,” Yuuri sighs. “Were you able to work something out?”

Viktor’s triumphant smile is audible as he laughs. “Yes I was!” he proclaims. “It was a near thing but I was able to change the paperwork so that you and I are listed as Yuri’s coaches. They’ll have to make an announcement since the programs were already printed but we’ll be able to get in no problem.”

A weight lifts off Yuuri’s shoulders and they sag against the wall behind them. “Thank goodness.”

“I told you not to worry, didn’t I?” Viktor chides gently.

Yuuri hums but says nothing, listening to the gentle cadence of Viktor’s breathing on the other end of the line. “Viktor?” they ask after a few minutes of silence.

Viktor hums inquisitively and speaks softly, “What is it, Yura?”

 Before Yuuri can stop themselves they ask, “Do you know how to tango?”

Viktor laughs, surprised. “Only a little. Why?”

“I’d like to tango with you, I think,” and then, before Viktor can argue, “don’t worry. I’ll lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter too and, as always, if you see an error please let me know! If you have a song or band or soundtrack that you'd like me to take a look at and maybe pull some dances from please let me know! If you have questions/comments/concerns about any of my portrayals of characters or any weird OoC-ness that I may have let slip, please let me know that as well! You can find me on tumblr at zadabug98.tumblr.com for randomness and fandomness and stupid shit my family says/does. 
> 
> I'll try to post the next chapter by next week, but again, it all depends on what my schedule decides to do.Hope you had a marvelous holiday season (Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Viktor's Birthday, Christmas, Yule, whatever you celebrate I hope it rocked) and have a very happy New Year you guys!!


	6. Viktor the Emotional Fashion Police and Yuri Who Just Wants Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my party people!!! I'm back today with a full 4,000 word chapter!! Yay!!!
> 
> As there's no dancing in the chapter there will be no music links today. I have no idea how that ended up happening but I'll try to include some highly indulgent dance scenes later on to make up for it. 
> 
> As always, if you see any misspellings, improper pronoun usage, or anything like that please let me know!! I hope you enjoy today's chapter and if you want, stick around for some fun facts about this chapter in the end notes.
> 
> Warning for doughnuts. It'll make sense. Just maybe don't read this chapter on an empty stomach.

When the others find Yuuri, they’re simply standing against the wall, phone pressed against their face as they talk with Viktor about nothing at all. They quickly say goodbye to Viktor, promising to meet up back at the hotel, and then the four of them return to aimlessly walking the streets.

“Viktor has everything sorted,” Yuuri tells Yuri. “He and I will be your official coaches for the competition.”

Yuri nods, nonplussed, and really? What else could they have expected from him?

* * *

When they get back to the hotel, they all go their separate ways after making plans for meeting up later on. Yuuri is ready for a nap and, if the way he’s meandering in after them is any indication, it’s likely that Yuri has similar plans.

These plans, of course, are put completely on hold when Viktor practically breaks down the door to his room, rushing into the hallway with a white button-down shirt falling from his shoulders and a pair of black slacks hanging, backwards, around his hips. He looks near tears, and Yuuri can already see moisture beading in his eyes as he turns towards the two of them. “Yura!” He cries. “Yuri! Thank god, I need your help!”

Yuri takes one look at Viktor, glances longingly towards the door of his own room, and sighs the sigh of a young man who has seen way too much. “Yes, Viktor,” Yuri says. “But the kind of help you need requires a nice cushy couch and a Ph.D. which we, unfortunately, do not have.”

Yuuri holds in a snort as Viktor wails at how rude Yuri is being, stepping forward to remove the tie that was wrapped around Viktor’s head like a hachimaki headband. “Come on,” they say, “get back inside your room before someone calls in a noise complaint or something, and you can tell us all about it.”

Viktor wails again, though this time about how sweet Yuuri is as they usher him back inside his room.

“You too, Yuri,” they call behind them and Yuri slinks back over from where he’d been trying to escape the drama. He follows Yuuri into Viktor’s room reluctantly, noting with distaste how the floor and bed are positively covered in dress clothes.

Yuri sighs. This better be good. 

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Yuri paces across the floor as he tries not to growl the words, Viktor having finally managed to speak through all his blubbering and give them an explanation for what was going on. “You’re upset because you have _nothing to wear_?!” He gestures to the literal piles of clothing surrounding all three of them, and the still half-full suitcases piled up against the wall. “ _SERIOUSLY?!_ ”

Viktor pouts and leans forward on his perch on the bed, insistent. “You don’t understand, Yuri!” he whines. “This is my first official appearance as your official coach, despite the circumstances. It’s a super huge big deal!! I have to be dressed to _impress_! No one will take me seriously otherwise!!”

“Yes,” Yuri sing-songs, sarcasm practically dripping from his tone, “because being a five-time World Champion who holds numerous world records means absolutely nothing. Of course. You have to prove your worth with Armani!”

“You just don’t understand!!!” Viktor whines again, practically begging at this point, he turns frantic eyes on Yuuri, who had been watching the exchange with interest from their post in the armchair near the bed, fiddling with the corners of Viktor’s tie still held in their hands. “Yura!! Tell Yuri that he doesn’t understand!!”

Yuuri tenses in surprise at having been addressed so suddenly, before relaxing again. “I’m not quite sure I understand what exactly it is that Yuri doesn’t understand,” Yuuri says hesitantly, head bobbing as they speak. “It seems to me that you’re worried over nothing and… that’s coming from _me_ , so…” Yuuri trails off, eyes darting down to where their fingers have woven around the strip of silk in their lap. “Maybe if you explained why it… matters so much?”

Viktor pauses, eyes darting to the floor for a few moments as he seems to put his thoughts in order. Yuuri glances over at Yuri, watches as he visibly calms himself, ready to listen to whatever it is Viktor has to say. Yuuri smiles, just slightly, the boy is much more caring than he likes to let on.

“It’s like…” Viktor begins, but pauses, taking an exasperated breath before beginning again. He straightens up, looking at Yuri in the face, hands out as if to add shape to his words. “It’s like when you go out on the ice, ready to perform a routine, you go out with a costume. Something to enhance the visual of the story you’re skating and give it life, make it real, make it… believable.”

Yuri nods at this, and Yuuri does as well, both familiar with the psyche shift that happens once you put on a costume for a performance. The way it changes a routine into a story, how the sugar plum fairy isn’t quite the sugar plum fairy without the bedazzled tutu and twinkling tiara.

“If I go to the Grand Prix Final as Yuri’s official coach,” Viktor continues, “and I don’t look every bit as serious of a coach as I can, then who’s going to believe that that’s who I am now?”

There’s a moment of silence so tangible Yuuri can feel it sliding down their spine like cold sweat, a chilling uncomfortable feeling that makes their throat feel tight. Yuuri longs to empathize with Viktor, to tell him that they understand completely, but they’ve long consigned those memories to the deep recesses of their mind and to drag them out now would be to send their already nervous brain into a panic-fueled tailspin. They feel the words at the back of their throat like bile, and swallow the feeling down as far as it will go.

“Is this because of those assholes giving you hell about your break?” Yuri breaks through the silence, words crass but tone not as mocking as it could be, a harsh whisper rather than a brash roar.

“What?” Yuuri asks, startled by the sound just as much as the words they formed. They look towards Viktor, but he refuses to meet their gaze. Yuri, however, meets their eyes easily, face displeased but not quite angry.

“Just some asshole skaters and reporters badgering Viktor about coming back on the ice,” Yuri explains, always one to never beat around the bush. “They mean well, sure, but you’d think that they’d get the hint eventually.” Yuuri just stares, flabbergasted, and Yuri takes that as his cue to continue, “They all think he’s wasting his time trying to be my coach instead of my competitor. I mean, would I like to skate against Viktor? Yeah. Would I want to skate against a Viktor with no inspiration and no drive? Hell no.”

Viktor’s head shoots up. “What?” he all but chokes out. “What are you talking about?”

Yuri scoffs. “Dude,” he says. “If you were trying to hide it you absolutely failed. Anyone with half a brain would know you’ve just been going through the motions here lately. It’s why you quit, isn’t it? Winning gold isn’t worth anything if you don’t enjoy it. Even an idiot like you knows that.”

“‘It’s different when your passion becomes your job.’” Yuuri quotes, voice breathy with realization. They’d always chalked up that night’s revelation to the lowered inhibitions of alcohol, but maybe there was more to it than just that.  

“I only really made the decision to stay off the ice after I started coaching you, Yuri.” Viktor supplies, face tight with an emotion that Yuuri doesn’t really want to analyze too deeply. “It was just supposed to be a trial thing. Maybe just take a break for a bit, catch my breath, find another muse.” His voice trails, his hands hanging between his knees. “But the more time I spent off the ice, with the both of you, the more I… the more it…”

Viktor sighs, harshly, hands coming up to scrub through his hair. “It’s lonely at the top,” he says, whisper soft and worn smooth. “I don’t want to go back on the ice. I just want to keep having fun being your coach.”

There’s another beat of silence, hesitant but warm. Anticipatory, but not anxious.

“Co-coach,” Yuuri corrects with a soft voice and a smile, dropping the silk tie onto the floor in front of them. “Don’t forget I’m here, too.”

Viktor laughs, a sobbing, hiccupping thing, and Yuuri can’t take much more. They stand, stepping carefully around the piles of clothes to stand in front of Viktor, hands dropping to run through his hair. They’ve seen the pictures and videos of Viktor’s long hair, and they can’t help but wonder how it would’ve felt to braid that hair into intricate plaits.

“If you’re really serious about staying off the ice, then it doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. Wear a tux, wear a tracksuit, wear a tutu, either way it won’t matter. Putting on a costume means nothing if you don’t feel it, after all.” Yuuri’s fingers slow ever so slightly, gaze trailing into the distance ever so briefly. “Trust me, I know.”

Viktor sighs, leaning forward to wrap his arms loosely around Yuuri’s hips, pressing his face into their stomach. Yuuri yelps, fingers tightening in Viktor’s hair, head snapping sideways to turn panicked eyes towards Yuri.

Yuri is… actually, he’s just done with these idiots and their drama. Rolling his eyes with a scowl he shifts his weight so that one hip is cocked out, arms crossed. He’ll wait.

Yuuri wants to fuss at him for that, but the little hiccupping breaths warming their belly are more important at that moment. “Viktor,” they say softly, cooing gently as they run their fingers through his hair again, paying special attention to the adorable whorl on the top of his head. “Viktor, it’s going to be okay.”

Viktor shakes his head into the fabric of Yuuri’s sweater, arms tightening around their waist. Yuuri sighs.

“Viktor,” they say, voice soft but tone stern, commanding his attention. “Would you be able to go back to the ice, right now, jump into the Grand Prix unannounced and skate to your very best – 100% of your effort and potential?”

Viktor gives the question the few seconds of thought it deserves before shaking his head into Yuuri’s stomach once more, a definitive ‘no’.

Yuuri smiles. “Would you be able to go into the Grand Prix, and as my co-coach, help me help Yuri do his very best, giving 100% of your effort for him to reach 100% of his potential?”

Viktor pauses, the silence in the wake of that question growing long and drawn out, but Yuuri is willing to wait for Viktor to think it over, to wait for him to make up his mind. It’s important, after all, not just for Viktor but for all three of them.

Viktor slowly releases his grip on Yuuri’s waist, so slowly they don’t really notice it until Viktor is pulling his head back and their fingers slip from his hair to rest on his shoulders. Viktor looks up at Yuuri, eyes a watery blue, and there’s something in those eyes that tells Yuuri that Viktor has his answer.

Yuri, bless him, has remained silent throughout this entire exchange, eyes cataloguing and mind stamping down on the irritation to focus on the interaction unfolding before him. He watches as a soft, encouraging smile practically blossoms on Yuuri’s gentle face, eyes glimmering behind the glint of their glasses.

He finds it weird that Viktor hasn’t noticed it, how Viktor could see that face and rant to him in the middle of the night about how to get Yuuri’s attention. How he could possibly think that Yuuri could be anything less than absolutely in love with him.

Yuri pauses that train of thought.

Rewinds it.

Plays it back.

Absolutely in love.

Somehow, that just… doesn’t seem like enough to describe the soft way that Yuuri tilts their head ever so slightly as they gaze down at Viktor or the gentle light that glows behind Viktor’s eyes whenever he finally looks up at Yuuri, too, the both of them locked onto each other, lost in each other.

Yuri tries to imagine one of them breaking the silence to admit it, to say “I love you” the way they would if this were a film or a romance novel, and he can’t help but think that it would cheapen the moment, to dumb it down to something as vague and insignificant as just love.

Yuri has read more sappy romance novels than he is willing to admit and words pop up in his brain like the first few bubbles in a pot of water about to boil over – infatuation, devotion, affection, adoration, fondness, endearment, passion – the list goes on and on and yet not a single word in its singularity can encompass the way Yuuri’s hands never fidget when they stand next to Viktor in the dance studio at Lilia’s or how Viktor’s smiles open his whole mouth when he comes down for breakfast in the morning and sees Yuuri mixing up the batter for his favorite pancakes.

Yuri has a brief moment of panic when Yuuri leans down, terrified that this soft moment is going to be ruined by something he’d rather not see but can’t seem to look away from. He feels the air trapped in his lungs trickle free, however, when Yuuri’s soft mouth simply touches gently against Viktor’s forehead, soundless and soft like cat paws padding across carpet. It’s a gesture of comfort Yuri is used to receiving himself, and here it is both consolation and reassurance. As always, Yuuri understands even the words that neither Yuri nor Viktor can bring themselves to say.

Viktor is frozen, and as Yuuri slowly pulls away the light in his eyes lights up his cheeks as well and he surges forward, wrapping his arms like a vice around Yuuri’s waist, burying his face once more in Yuuri’s sweater. Yuuri simply laughs, surprised, before settling their arms around Viktor’s shoulders in a careful embrace around his head.

Yuri really wants to leave them alone. He’s been rooting for them since day one it feels like, and goddamn it if they aren’t finally making some actual progress. But this isn’t the time for twelve-hour cuddle sessions or confessions of emotion.

He’s got a mother fucking Grand Prix Final to win, and damn it all if he’s gonna let these two saps get distracted now.

“Alright!” he shouts – softly, sort of – and claps his hands together – loudly, whatever –  causing Viktor and Yuuri to both startle apart, “Now that we’ve got that emotional mess,” he gestures vaguely in Viktor’s direction and quietly takes pride in the offended hand Viktor places on his own chest, “figured out. Personally, I don’t care whether you show up in a full-on tuxedo or a pair of yoga pants, but if it means that much to you, we should probably get it sorted sooner rather than later, yeah?”

Yuuri and Viktor remain in shocked silence for a few beats before Viktor flings himself forward, latching on to Yuri’s shoulders and bawling like his dog just died. “Yuri!” He cries, “I knew you cared somewhere in that prickly teenage heart of yours!!!”

Yuri tries desperately to pull the taller man off, turning to Yuuri for help. They are, of course, no help, simply standing there with both hands clasped to their chest, eyes shining, looking like a proud mother whose child just said “mama” for the first time. “Oh, Yuri,” they say, gently.

Yuri scowls, feet raising to kick Viktor away. “What the hell are you idiots doing?!” he snarls, blush rising hot and dark. “Get a move on already!”

In moments, Viktor turns a full 180, face serious and eyes calculating, sweeping across the floor. “Yura!” He says quickly, turning to face Yuuri suddenly and making them jump in mild surprise. “What are you wearing to the Grand Prix?”

Yuuri blinks in surprise, caught off guard by the question. “I didn’t really bring anything specific if that’s what you’re asking,” Yuuri replies. “I have a few formal outfits for the banquet but nothing else, really.”

Viktor frowns for a moment, swirling on his heel to march over the clothes and towards the door. “Show me,” he says, and Yuuri does.

* * *

 

They play dress up for what feels like hours until Viktor is satisfied that not only will both he and Yuuri look like the badassiest coaches – Yuri’s words, not Viktor’s – to ever grace the Grand Prix, but they will also match.

How horribly domestic.

By the time Yuri finally escapes to his own room it’s well past the time he’d wanted to go to bed and he all but collapses into the thing, clothes on and everything. It’s the horribly itchy tag pressing into his hip that finally gets him up and changed into something resembling sleep clothes, but even then he can’t muster the energy to hop in the shower.

It’s late, Yuri is tired, and if he ever has to so much as look at another white dress shirt he’s pretty certain he’d just vomit on the spot.

Goddamn Viktor and his goddamn collection of fifty billion white dress shirts that are all the fucking same no matter what his stupid face says about eggshell and egg white and undertones and cufflinks versus buttons and Windsor knots and half Windsor knots and – Yuri screams into his pillow.

It’s been a long day.

* * *

It should be known that Yuuri Katsuki is not the type of person to spend a lot of time on social media. They have the accounts, sure. Instagram, twitter, facebook, tumblr, snapchat, etc., but they only really use them to figure out where Viktor and Yuri run off to whenever the two disappear spontaneously without telling Yuuri that they were going out – together, or separate, and on occasion separately but at the same time – or to check up on Phichit every now and again when they’ve gone too long without a phone call or a Skype conversation and neither of them are awake for long enough at the right times to have a decent interaction via text.

They really only have a few messenger apps downloaded on their phone and even then it’s only because that way it’s easier for them to keep in contact with their international friends and their family back in Japan.

So it comes to pass that Yuuri Katsuki is completely unaware of the shit-storm brewing in the comments section of Phichit Chulanont’s Instagram posts as the videos and photographs of their ice dancing with Viktor – freaking – Nikiforov goes viral and the hashtag #FindTheKatsudonCutie rockets up to the number one trending.

Yuri Plisetsky, however, has his finger pretty firmly on the pulse of SNS and, though aware of said brewing shit-storm, was much more concerned over the crazy ladies calling themselves Yuri’s Angels.

Now, Yuri loves his fans. Half of his current kitty plushy collection came from them, after all, and his popularity with sponsors was directly dependent on his popularity with the public. But when he leaves the hotel to find a decent doughnut shop early the next morning, he really does not appreciate being hunted down like a fox being chased by a pack of rabid bloodhounds.

Literal bloodhounds, apparently, seeing as they’re tracking him by his goddamn scent or some shit. What the actual hell!?

He hears their shrieking coming near him, and closes his eyes to pray to every god he can think of, and a few he’s pretty sure he made up, to spare his life just this once. When he opens his eyes, he wonders if maybe he should write the Cat-God Bible after all because directly in front of him, sitting astride a rumbling motorcycle and holding out a spare helmet, is none other than Otabek Altin.

Yuri takes one look behind him at the mob of girls rushing his way, and hops on without a second thought.

“Where were you headed?” Otabek calls back once they’ve gotten a few blocks away. Yuri wouldn’t be able to hear him normally, but he’s pretty sure the helmets have an intercom system of some sort because Otabek’s voice sounds loud and clear in his left ear.

“I was looking for a doughnut shop,” Yuri says. “But none of that processed Krispy Kreme shit. Real doughnuts.” Yuri smiles at Otabek’s snort. “You know a place?”

Otabek is silent for a moment before humming. “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

Apparently, Otabek does indeed know of a doughnut place, or is just really good at finding them which, if true, is a quality Yuri is willing to extort to the fullest. Luz de Día, the name of the doughnut shop, is just small enough to feel cozy but not confining, and the wall of doughnuts behind the counter look practically divine.

“What do you want?” Otabek asks, stepping towards the friendly lady smiling behind the register.

Yuri startles out of his doughnut induced daydreams, leaning forward to get a closer look at the selection and prices. There were doughnuts that looked like butterflies and pine cones and every combination of chocolate glaze and sprinkles Yuri could imagine. “I suppose I can’t have one of everything, can I?”

Otabek snorts, something that Yuri is beginning to mentally translate into boisterous laughter. “You could,” Otabek says. “But then we’d be here all day, and that many doughnuts simply can’t be good for you. What do you usually get?”

Yuri examines the menu, written out in Spanish and so therefore absolutely useless to him. Yuri sighs, and turns back to look at the doughnuts themselves. “I’ll have…” he points to the doughnuts he wants, listing how many as he goes and in the end he’s holding a tray with one of the pine cone shaped doughnuts, an apple fritter, two old-fashioned doughnuts, and a dozen pumpkin-spice cake doughnut holes.

Otabek eyes his tray with what on anyone else would look like disdain, but Yuri has quickly realized that this particular quirk of his dark eyebrows is really amusement. Otabek carries his own tray, a duo of sugar glazed chocolate cake doughnuts paired with a single chocolate covered doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. Yuri abstains from coffee in favor of a large glass of plain milk and Otabek does the same except his glass is filled with chocolate milk.

Yuri is beginning to notice a pattern. “You really like chocolate, huh?” he asks one doughnut and half a fritter later, wiping the sugar glaze from his mouth.

Otabek nods, mouth full of doughnut as he reaches forward to brush a stray crumb from the tip of Yuri’s nose.

“Oh, thanks,” Yuri says evenly, “do I have sugar anywhere else?”

Otabek shakes his head, swallowing. “I suppose you don’t remember me, then?” he says, quite out of the blue, and Yuri pauses mid-bite.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says, and he is, because he’s pretty sure Otabek is the type of guy he’d have liked to remember. “Have we met before?”

Otabek explains how they know each other and, to be fair, Yuri was only about ten at the time and since he’d just moved from Moscow to St. Petersburg, he’d had a lot to prove and a lot of people to prove it to. Otabek doesn’t blame him for not remembering, at least, but Yuri still feels a little sad.

“You had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier,” Otabek says, and that gets Yuri’s attention.

“A soldier?” Yuri asks, soft, like he can’t believe it. “Me?”

Otabek looks at him, at the 15 year-old fighting to make his mark in an adult’s world; barely a teenager and taking on competitors with roughly ten more years of experience and effort and practice. Otabek knows, of course, that the internet likes to call Yuri Plisetsky the ‘Russian Fairy’, praise him for his dainty looks and long hair. Otabek had always thought they were right, of course, but only because the fairies he grew up hearing about had sharp teeth and magic strong enough to make kings kneel at their feet and bend to their will.

“Of course,” Otabek says, “Who else?”

Yuri takes a moment to process this, chewing thoughtfully on his doughnut holes as if they hold the answers to every question on earth and more. They might, actually. They’re really quite good.

Before he can say anything his phone buzzes with a text message from… he fishes it out of his pocket… oh, it’s Yuuri. _Where are you?_ it reads.

Yuuri scowls, licking his fingers clean before he types a response back. _Went out for doughnuts. Got caught by fangirls and then kidnapped by Otabek. Kazakh finalist. He’s cool. He bought me doughnuts. Be back later._

And… send.

Yuri looks up at Otabek and Otabek looks up to meet his gaze. “Are you a cat person?” Yuri asks, “Or are you a dog person?”

Otabek blinks, surprised, before looking away in thought. “Hmm,” he hums, “I don’t mind dogs,” he says, “but I do prefer cats.”

Yuri nods, decision made. He sticks his hand out for Otabek to shake, “then let’s be friends,” he says and Otabek nods, too, reaching across the table to shake Yuri’s hand.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faeries are freaking vicious.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and thanks so much to all of you who have commented, bookmarked, and kudosed, it really means alot to me!!! As always, drop me a comment if you have any questions or concerns!!! I love to hear from you!!!!
> 
> Fun fact, Yuri's thoughts on the word 'love' is literally my thought process every time I tried to work in a confession or realization into this fic. It always felt like it just wasn't enough to have this big, soppy, emotional mass that is Viktor and Yuuri's feelings for each other be simplified to just 'love'. Let me know if you agree or disagree, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter.
> 
> Another fun fact, the doughnut shop is based off a doughnut shop that used to be open in my area called Daylight Doughnuts. Luz de Día should be Daylight in Spanish, if it isn't please let me know. Anyway they had the BEST doughnuts. Made them fresh, by hand. Ugh. They stopped making them though because a Dunkin Donuts opened down the road when their doughnut guy retired and they didn't want to hire a new doughnut guy if they weren't gonna get business because of the Dunkin Donuts. It made me sad.


	7. Not actually a chapter, but there is an apology blurb

[Sticking the Author's Note in the Chapter Text because this is Very Important.]

Okay, so, I'm sorry that I have to do this, because I really hate having to do this, but I don't want to leave you guys hanging for a week without at least checking in. The chapter that I DID have slated to post got completely torn apart a few days ago when I had to rearrange the timeline to make it work a bit better. So, I basically have to rewrite the whole thing. Not to mention, I've been super busy getting my stuff together to go back to college this weekend so my writing time has been cut down a lot. 

I will have a chapter up next week, though!! Hopefully by next weekend because my classes start next Tuesday. Also, because of classes starting up again I may need to cut down on the update frequency or the chapter length for this fic (let me know if you would prefer 2,000 words weekly or 4,000 words every two weeks and I'll see what I can do).

Sorry again that I have to do this, but as a consolation gift I present to you a scene from the huge chunk of story that got cut and probably won't end up being reused...

* * *

 

Mila looks up from her pancakes to see Viktor and Yuuri getting up from a table across the dining room from her own. She tilts her head, watching as Viktor smiles and tucks Yuuri’s hand into the crook of his elbow as if he were a gallant night escorting his lady to the royal ball. She snickers at the thought, smiling as she sees the light flush that spreads across Yuuri’s checks and the way they lean ever so slightly into Viktor’s side.

“It’s about damn time,” she says to herself.

“Hm?” Her companion hums around a stolen bite of Mila’s pancakes. “What?”

Mila rolls her eyes and points at the pair with her fork, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Those idiots,” she says, “have been pining over each other since practically the day that they met and from the looks of things they’re finally getting their shit together.”

Sara Crispino blinks, mouth falling into a slight smirk. “Sounds a lot like somebody I know,” she teases, taking a sip of her coffee.

Mila scowls playfully and makes a swipe at one of Sara’s muffins. “Oi, that’s different,” she protests. “I had to navigate your crazy protective brother. The only thing standing between those two numbskulls is their own stupid brains.”

Sara laughs. “Well, you know Viktor,” she hums, “always a bit slow on the uptake, no?”

Mila just laughs. “Oh, you have no idea,” she sighs. “I was hoping Yuuri would be a bit quicker, but they’re denser than my mom’s pound cake.”

“You have to admit though,” Sara says before taking a small bite of her blueberry muffin. “Your mom’s pound cake is pretty freaking delicious.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, though, thank you to everyone who has commented, bookmarked, kudosed, or found me on tumblr at zadabug98.tumblr.com 
> 
> I wouldn't have come this far with this story if it weren't for you guys' support


	8. 7,000+ Words of Something Round and Golden, Unconventional Love Confessions, and Gratuitous Ballroom Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something round and gold a la "Jewelry For Your Girlfriend" by Sheldon Cooper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is indeed dancing in the chapter (and quite a lot of it, too) so I'll add the links into the text when those scenes pop up. They're all instrumentals but there's a scene where they sing along to one of them so if you don't know the song then it's not super important that you know the lyrics or anything but it IS super important that you hear Yuuri and Viktor's singing voices because wow. Viktor's VA in particular is one of my favorites since he's so talented (his range is just AMAZING) and I think that [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VJY_d_bhUQ) is the best I could find of what he would probably sound like singing as Viktor. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxfvOSLCwiw) is Yuuri's VA singing. Aren't they amazing!?
> 
> See the ending notes for endearment translations (there are a lot) and some fun facts about this chapter and what's in store for this fic.
> 
> **Important Note: I use masculine pronouns for Yuuri at the beginning of their dream because in the dream they are the Yuuri of the past when Yuuri was a he and not yet a they. 
> 
> Also! Also! Show some love to this [lovely fanart](http://secondarydrowning.tumblr.com/post/154810740224/fan-art-for-my-fav-yuri-on-ice-fanfic-ever-with) by the amazing secondarydrowning over on tumblr!!!

It’s not until Yuuri is sitting in the hotel dining room with Viktor eating breakfast that they think to message Yuri. The two of them had gone ahead and ordered an assortment of dishes, both unsure whether they’d wanted a savory breakfast or a sweet one and whether or not Yuri would be joining them. Mila had pretty much been doing her own thing since they’d gotten settled into the hotel, so Viktor and Yuuri aren’t too worried about her.

“Yuri says he got chased by some fangirls and ran into Otabek,” Yuuri says, putting their fork down onto their plate. “They’re eating doughnuts now.” Yuuri sends Yuri a text back, making sure that he’ll be back in time to get ready for the Grand Prix Final practice session that afternoon. This practice will be coaches and skaters only, so Yuuri is trying not to get too worried about their performance as a coach.

Viktor hums around his mouthful, washing it down with a cup of sinfully sweetened coffee before he speaks, ignorant of the anxious thoughts lingering in the corners of Yuuri’s brain. “I figured that would happen,” Viktor says. “Some of Yuri’s fans are absolutely feral.”

Yuuri shudders at the thought. “Did you ever have any fans like that?” they ask, purely curious as they sip on their mug of green tea. There’s a plate of muffins in the center of the table, and the lemon poppy seed ones seem to be calling their name.

Viktor laughs, setting his fork back down on the table and reaching up with a napkin to wipe away the smudge of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. “Well, I can’t say that I didn’t have my fair share of crazies,” he admits, “But I can honestly say that my fans were usually pretty respectful.”

Yuuri hums, snagging one of those luscious looking muffins and taking a bite. Delicious.

“Did you ever have to deal with crazy fans?” Viktor asks as he takes a small forkful of the scrambled eggs near his elbow.

Yuuri shakes their head, tucking a stray strand of their hair back behind their ear once it comes loose. They swallow and smile sheepishly. “Not really,” they say. “I’ve gotten a few letters before, a few bouquets on my birthday and whatnot, but I just wasn’t in the spotlight long enough to gain a huge following and I’m really not all that impressive.” They sigh. “I doubt I’d have many fans even if I were still dancing in a company.”

Viktor pauses for a moment, mouth full, jaw frozen. “You’re kidding, right?” he mumbles around the mouthful of quite delicious eggs before swallowing hard. He leans forward, hands on the table and eyes intense. “Please tell me you’re kidding me right now.”

Yuuri looks up at him, puzzled, and Viktor blinks. “You’re not kidding,” he says in a kind of somber awe as he leans back ever so slightly. “You really think that.”

“Think what?”

“That you’re not good enough to have fans.”

“Well, that’s not really what I said,” Yuuri protests. “I know that I’m good. I know that I am very good.” The trophies and medals in the case back in Japan are more than proof of that. They pause for a moment, smothering a warm biscuit in butter and jam. They take a bite before continuing, “But there are many others who are also very good and, in the end, I don’t really have anything special that sets me apart from all the rest.” It’s a rather small case, after all.

Breakfast momentarily forgotten, Viktor places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his interlaced fingers. “I beg to differ,” he says. “You, Yuuri Katsuki, are an extraordinarily singular individual. Your very existence is a marvel and your every action is a wonder. You are nothing less than a gift and, had they only the opportunity, anyone with half a brain in their heads would know it within moments of meeting you.”

Yuuri blinks, bewildered, face cracking into a nervous smile as they fight the flush that threatens to rise to their face. “Thank you,” they whisper, eyes downcast in pleased embarrassment. “That is very kind of you to say.”

“I’m not saying it to be kind,” Viktor corrects gently. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

“Well,” Yuuri says, completely at a loss for words. “Still, thank you.”

Viktor smiles and nods once, digging back in to his pancakes with a zeal that Yuuri had always thought only achievable by dogs and small children. Apparently, they had been mistaken.

“We’ve got a few hours before we have to be at the rink,” Viktor says a few minutes later, once he’s reduced the pancake stack to nothing more than a single smear of chocolate on the plate. “Did you remind Yuri?”

Yuuri nods, looking up from where they had been scrolling through messages from Phichit. Most of them are so garbled in abbreviations, random capitols, emoticons, and misspellings that reading them feels like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. “Did you tell Mila about Yakov not being able to make it?”

Viktor nods. “I dropped her a text since she wasn’t in her room. She said she’ll be fine without him there, but I figured we could keep an eye on her anyway.”

Yuuri nods. “Of course.”

* * *

It’s ladies first in the Grand Prix practice session, so Viktor and Yuuri make sure to show up an hour early to be there for Mila’s turn on the ice. She smiles when she sees them, pecking Yuuri on the cheek and handing her guards to Viktor as she takes to the ice with a confident swagger all her own.

Yuuri catches the glances Mila shares with the cute Italian skater working through bits of step sequences nearby and they smile.

“Seems Mila finally made a move,” Viktor hums from where he’d been standing next to Yuuri with his gloved hand pressed thoughtfully against his mouth. His eyes dart down to meet Yuuri’s curious eyes and he smiles as he turns back to watch the skaters.

“Mila’s had a crush on Sara, the Italian skater over there, for a few years now. Not that Mila hasn’t at one point or another had a crush on basically every skater you’ll ever meet, but that’s beside the point really.”

Yuuri chuckles, and Viktor’s smile tilts a little to the side. “Still, most of Mila’s crushes don’t last long. They’re more deep respect and admiration than actual romantic affection, but Sara’s always been different.”

Yuuri hums and Viktor snorts. “I was worried about her for a while – Sara’s got a horribly overprotective twin brother, you know – but,” Mila skates by Sara, tapping their hips together enough to jolt but not enough to knock either of them over. Sara laughs, returning the gesture on her next pass. Viktor smiles.

“Mila’s always loved a challenge, after all.”

Yuuri smiles, ignoring the itching in their toes as they content themselves to simply watch over the young ladies dancing and leaping across the ice. 

* * *

An hour later, Yuri arrives with who Yuuri recognizes as Otabek, the Kazakh skater. Viktor is off talking with one of the young ladies’ coaches, something about leaning into a landing to decrease the chance of falling, but the technical jargon is lost on Yuuri.

All the male skaters step onto the rink, focused on their own step sequences and jumps to an admirable degree. Yuuri holds their breath as Yuri stumbles on a particularly difficult landing, eyebrows furrowing when they see the tension in Yuri’s body.

“Yuri,” they call softly and Yuri skates over, heaving a big breath.

Yuuri smiles, leaning forward over the barrier to put a hand on his head. Yuri blinks, eyebrows coming together in question. Yuuri lets the hand fall to Yuri’s cheek and brings the other one up to cup the young skater’s face.

“Deep breath in,” they prompt, and when Yuri’s eyes slide closed as he complies, “and a deep breath out.”

Yuri takes a few more deep breaths as Yuuri gently holds his face. When he opens his eyes, the tension has eased significantly and Yuuri simply smiles. “It’s just practice,” Yuuri says. “Everyone flubs a jump or two in practice. Get all of your mistakes out now – no costume, no judges, no crowds.” They smile at the confused tilt of Yuri’s brow and continues before he can interrupt, “That way, when you’re in costume, with the judges and the crowds, you’ll land every jump and nail every sequence, because you won’t have any mistakes left.”

“Is that what you do, Yura?” Yuri asks, soft.

Yuuri giggles just a bit, nodding. “Mn-hmn,” they hum. “And it’s worked like a charm every time.” They drop their hands from Yuuri’s cheeks to his shoulders and guide him into turning around. “Now,” they say with a gentle shove, “get out there and make some mistakes.”

Yuri laughs as he skates onto the ice, and Yuuri smiles.

* * *

Viktor eventually returns and he stands by Yuuri’s side as they both watch Yuri practice. He makes a few more mistakes, but they don’t seem to bother him as badly. Yuuri heaves a mental sigh of relief at this – a performer’s greatest challenge is conquering their own mind, after all.

When Yuri finally steps off the ice and changes back into normal clothing it’s gotten late. It’s not quite evening yet, but it’s still winter and the sun is close to going down.

Yuuri watches the colors of the sunset play across the sky as they wait for a taxi. “You should rest tonight,” Viktor says out of the blue. “Prepare for the competition tomorrow.”

Yuri nods, mind elsewhere. “Yeah, I was gonna call my Grandpa and turn in early,” he says. “I’m not stupid enough to binge watch entire seasons of What Not to Wear the night before a competition.”

Viktor gasps in offense. “That was _one time_ ,” he protests, and then hastily adds, “and I still blame Chris!”

Yuri just snorts. “Of course,” he says as they pile into the cab heading to the hotel. Sarcasm positively drips from his voice. “And that one time you stayed up playing Final Fantasy was Georgi’s fault and that night you stayed up learning how to fold origami tigers was my fault, though I’m still not sure why, and that time you stayed up reading romance novels was Yakov’s fault.”

“And all three are true,” Viktor insists. Yuuri simply laughs in baffled delight, cutting off the argument before it can truly begin. All three of them remain in comfortable silence until they arrive at the hotel.

Yuri holes himself up in his room with a swift goodnight and a hearty thud of the door – it’s not quite a slam, but it’s not quite gentle either.

Yuuri spends a good half hour debating whether or not to call home. It’s not like they haven’t been in contact with their family since they left America… but that doesn’t mean they’ve been particularly divulging either.

The Katsuki family knows that their youngest child is living in Russia and learning under Lilia. They know that Yuuri is helping out a young figure skater. They know that Yuuri is happy.

Any more and Yuuri panics, scared that the things they have to share will disappoint their family. They know it’s irrational, that no matter what they would always be their mother’s baby, but it’s hard sometimes and in the end they put the phone away without typing anything.

It’s late over there anyway, they tell themselves. Best not wake anyone up.

They lie in silence for a while until the intrusive thoughts start to become too much. They stand, slipping their feet into a pair of knee-high, soft soled boots and stepping out into the hallway.

Viktor opens his door with a smile, and Yuuri can’t help but smile back.

“Yura,” he says. “What’s the matter, I thought we were all turning in for the evening?”

“Viktor,” they say. “Would you take, um, maybe come with me? Out somewhere? Sight-seeing? Or something?” When Viktor doesn’t respond, they take a breath and try to stamp down the panic bubbling in their chest. “I just need to, uh, do something to take my mind off of the, ah, the competition and, uh, some other things that, uh…”

Viktor holds up a hand, and his entire face glows with a bright, genuine smile. “Say no more,” he says. “I’d love to.” 

* * *

Yuuri soon finds that it’s easy to get pulled into Viktor’s orbit. He drags them into more stores than Yuuri can count, tossing extravagant scarves over their shoulders and vibrant hats on their head.

“Would you say you’re more of a royal blue or a turquoise?” Viktor asks, holding up two feather boas. He’s wearing a delicate gold tiara oh his head and Yuuri eyes themselves in the mirror, crowned with the matching silver one. The metal work is delicate and elegant, and the small rhinestones glitter.

Yuuri turns to him and laughs, grabbing both boas and tossing them around their shoulders, striking a sassy pose. “Why not both?”

Viktor laughs at this, tossing fuchsia and magenta boas around his own shoulders and smooshing his face against Yuuri’s for another barrage of ridiculous, over-dramatic selfies. He posts the most fabulous ones to snapchat and Instagram, documenting their fashion journey around Barcelona.

“You really do look absolutely lovely in blue,” Viktor says, offhandedly, as they’re hanging the boas back up.

Yuuri smiles, a small flush rising to their cheeks. “Thank you,” they say. “And you look dashing in pink.”

“It complements my hair, doesn’t it,” Viktor says, nodding, stroking a hand through his bangs, careful of the tiara perched on his head. He lifts it off, eyeing it before sticking it back on his head. “I clash horribly with anything silver, though,” he says.

“Is _that_ why you always win gold?” Yuuri teases, leaning in to nudge Viktor’s shoulder. “Don’t want to get up on the podium just to clash in front of so many cameras?”

Viktor laughs at this, nudging Yuuri back with a coy smile. “Oh, darling,” Viktor purrs. “Every single one of my gold medals was well earned, I assure you. The fact that they look absolutely fabulous on me is just a bonus.” Viktor winks at Yuuri, and neither of them can hold in their riotous giggles.

Yuuri leans against Viktor’s shoulder, struggling to catch their breath. When they can finally take a breath in and hold it without exploding into giggles they step away to look at a rack of soft looking knit scarves.

A few minutes later, Viktor watches as Yuuri contemplates their reflection in the mirror before raising their hands to take the tiara off. “No, leave it,” he says quickly. “It suits you.” Yuuri looks up at him, surprised, but their hands fall slowly back to their sides.

And then, before he can think it through or stop himself, Viktor blurts out, “let me buy it for you.”

Yuuri freezes, eyes wide. Viktor looks surprised by his words as well. He wants to punch himself in the face at how stupid he must look, offering to buy Yuuri a tiara of all things. He holds his breath, ready for whatever remark Yuuri has for his silly request.

Yuuri says nothing and instead simply gives him a moment. A few breaths. A handful of heartbeats. Enough time for Viktor to take the words back, if he wants to. But he doesn’t take them back. Yuuri wonders if he even wants to.

Yuuri blinks at that thought, flush rising to their cheeks as their eyes lower. “Alright,” they say, surprising Viktor as much as they surprise themselves. Quickly they add on, “but only if you let me buy you that one,” and Viktor lets out a few surprised chuckles from a mouth stretched into a boyish, heart-shaped grin.

In the end, they walk out of the store with the tiaras perched on their heads like royalty, and Yuuri feels a lightness in their chest that can only be attributed in part to leaning a fraction of their weight onto the hand wrapped around Viktor’s elbow.

* * *

They shop for what feels like hours, and end up with so many bags that Yuuri can barely keep track of them all.

“Let’s sit for a moment,” they say as they all but collapse into a nearby bench. It’s dark outside, and the streetlights sparkle on the gold of Viktor’s tiara where it still sits perched on his head. Yuuri smiles, fingers reaching up to brush against the silver curling above their ear.

“Oh!” Viktor starts, phone whipping out and flashing as he takes a flurry of pictures. He coos and Yuuri sighs, moving a few of the bags so that Viktor can sit on the bench next to them as his fingers fly across the keyboard.

They spend a few moments resting but it isn’t long before Yuuri hears the echoing strain of [music floating in the air](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khWUnlX2L24). They look up to see a pianist and a cellist set up nearby, playing soft music. “Do you hear that?”

Viktor looks up and cocks his head like a dog, squinting his eyes. “A street performer, maybe?” He says, and Yuuri can’t help it as they stand up and grab their bags, walking over to the pair of performers.

They can feel Viktor step up next to them, but they’re already lost to the gentle sway of the music. They don’t realize that they’re dancing until Viktor’s body slots into place in front of them, holding them gently as he follows along to the motions Yuuri already started.

Yuuri spares a thought to their bags, but relaxes when they see them sat next to the smiling pianist. He nods at Yuuri, swaying as he leans into the notes, and Yuuri smiles back.

“Do you recognize this song?” Viktor asks, lips brushing their ear as he pulls them in close.

“Never heard it before in my life,” they respond, and pull Viktor into a perfectly timed series of rotations. They’re leading, for now, but there’s a light in Viktor’s smile that lets Yuuri know he’ll be doing his fair share of dips once he gets into the rhythm.

“It’s a Christmas carol,” Viktor says. “O Holy Night.”

Yuuri catches glimpses of tinsel and fairy lights in the corners of their eyes. “Oh,” they breathe. “Of course.”

The song is floaty, like flower petals on the surface of a crystal clear pond. Yuuri feels a smile blossom across their face, warmth blossoming in their chest as they pull Viktor into a spin, stepping and turning with the motions of the music.

As the music hums around them, the cello and piano singing, Yuuri pulls Viktor close and lays their brow against his collarbone. Their chests press together, one of Yuuri’s hands circled around the small of Viktor’s back while the other cradles Viktor’s palm, thumb brushing against the back of his fingers. Viktor’s forearm rests over their shoulders, his thumb circling around the small wispy hairs at the back of Yuuri’s neck that slipped out of their braid.

They sway together as the song fades out, and it takes a few moments of silence for Yuuri to look up and see the small crowd they’ve gathered.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, startled, stepping away from Viktor. They turn to the cellist and pianist, ducking into a short bow. “I’m so sorry, I,” they lose their train of thought, scrambling for apologies.

The cellist laughs, waving away Yuuri’s apologies with a smile. “No need to apologize for such beautiful dancing,” he says in heavily accented English. “Dance some more, please. We will play for you.”

Yuuri flushes, hands fidgeting. Viktor takes them into his own, cooler palms, and directs Yuuri into follow position this time. “You are very kind,” he says to the performers. “Thank you.”

The cellist and pianist [begin another song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdwSkFSzdHs) and Viktor pulls Yuuri into the dance. Yuuri notices immediately that it’s not in traditional waltz ¾ time, like the song before had been, but as Viktor pulls them into a sequence of turns they can’t say that they mind.

Yuuri lets Viktor lead them through steps and spins, and while he’s inexperienced in ballroom dancing and a bit hesitant in his leading, he makes up for these by being exceptionally energetic. And even though they stumble into each other a few times, Yuuri feels a laugh bubble up in their throat. “Is this a Christmas carol, too?” they say, voice light with giggles. It’s certainly much more energetic than any Christmas carol Yuuri can remember hearing in Detroit.

“Not one I’ve ever heard,” Viktor says in response, pulling Yuuri tight against his chest and into a series of turns. “Do you not listen to Christmas carols in Japan?”

 Yuuri laughs, narrowly avoiding stepping on Viktor’s toes. “Christmas is different in Japan,” they say. “It’s a couple’s holiday.” Yuuri glances away, a flush rising to their face. Viktor’s hand on their hip squeezes just enough to be reassuring and they look up, cheeks a healthy pink and lip caught in their teeth.

“Like Valentine’s Day?” Viktor asks, eyes reassuring.

Yuuri hums. “Something like that, yes,” they say. “Isn’t your birthday on Christmas? I heard someone at the rink mention it a few weeks ago.”

Viktor hums, nodding. “It is, but I don’t usually celebrate it.”

Yuuri blinks as Viktor pulls them into a spin. “Why not?”

Viktor simply shrugs, and Yuuri lets themselves be drawn into Viktor’s orbit once more.

Later, Yuuri will ask Viktor what his favorite kind of cake is and they will spend hours perfecting the recipe. Later, Yuuri will rent Viktor’s favorite movie and cook all his favorite foods just the way they know he likes them. Later, Yuuri will shower Viktor with every birthday well-wish they’ve ever received and they will cover him in congratulations in every language they know how to.

But now, the music bounces and twirls in the air around them, happy and exuberant in a way that Yuuri hadn’t felt often in the past year, but they’re beginning to recognize it as their new normal. Viktor pulls them into spins and they dance together like they’re alone in a kitchen, twirling around in their socks rather than on a street corner in Barcelona. It’s happy, it’s exuberant, and Yuuri simply can’t get enough.

Yuuri smiles into the skin of Viktor’s neck as the music hums in their blood, resonating within them. Viktor pulls them flush against his body and they breathe in the air that Viktor breathes out as they feel the beat of his heart against the soft skin of their nose.

The music fades away, but Yuuri and Viktor remain in a moment that feels untouchable.

The pianist [starts a new song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gD9DjWw5jt4), notes stepping like dainty feet down a petal strewn aisle and Yuuri shifts seamlessly into lead position, drawing Viktor into a slow waltz.

Phichit had been obsessed with the Twilight series while they roomed together, and Yuuri had been forced to watch every single one of the movies with him. They hadn’t minded all that much, and as the notes of the familiar melody hum through the cello they send a mental thank you to Phichit as they sing the lyrics into Viktor’s ear.

_Heart beats fast,_

_Colors and promises,_

_How to be brave?_

_How can I love when I’m afraid to fall?_

Yuuri lowers Viktor into a dip, smiling at the awestruck look on his face as they pull him back up into their arms.

_But watching you stand alone,_

_All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow._

Yuuri’s lips brush Viktor’s ear as they sing, their thumb rubbing encouraging circles into his hip. It’s obvious even now that Viktor’s never learned how to waltz past the basic box step, and Yuuri loves every trip and stumble.

_One step closer…_

Yuuri pauses for a single heartbeat, head drawing back to look at Viktor as they softly sing the next lines, Viktor held in their arms like something precious, like all the good things Yuuri always wished for but never thought they’d actually get to have.

_I have died every day waiting for you_

_Darling, don't be afraid._

A flush rises to their cheeks and they don’t fight it this time, because this is Viktor...

_I have loved you for a thousand years._

… and when Yuuri opens themselves up, Viktor always meets them where they are.

_I'll love you for a thousand more._

A smile explodes across Viktor’s face, the light in his eyes giving Yuuri the confidence to sing just a bit louder, a smile blossoming across their face.

_Time stands still,_

_Beauty in all he is_

Viktor laughs, and Yuuri’s face hurts with how hard they’re smiling. Their hand tightens over Viktor’s hip, and they lean forward ever so slightly to nuzzle into Viktor’s collarbone. The next few lines are whispered into his neck like a long held secret or a solemn vow.

_I will be brave_

_I will not let anything take away_

_What’s standing in front of me_

_Every breath, every hour_

_Has come to this_

Yuuri sighs, and is surprised when Viktor’s hand slips up the back of their neck, threading through their hair to cradle Yuuri’s head against his chest.

_One step closer…_

They sway together, steps light and flowing, gentle turns and soft voices as the chorus repeats and Yuuri sings to Viktor. Yuuri can feel the tickling vibration of his voice against their face as he hums along to the melody and they burrow closer.

Yuuri feels lips pressing into their hair, and they smile.

The piano and cello fill in the instrumental section of the song for which there is no lyrics and Yuuri feels Viktor’s hands shift into lead position as he pulls them into a choppy, stumbling, horribly wonderful mess of a waltz. Viktor’s face is achingly beautiful in this moment, and Yuuri can feel the sting of tears behind their eyes.

_One step closer…_

They are completely, utterly, and overwhelmingly unprepared for when Viktor opens his mouth and begins to softly croon alongside the cello.

_One step closer…_

Yuuri’s mouth freezes, heart trembling and freezing and burning as Viktor begins to sing the chorus in his gorgeous, beautiful voice. The look in his eyes says that he knows that this moment is more than a stumbling waltz and spontaneous karaoke.

_I have died every day waiting for you_

_Darling don’t be afraid_

_I have loved you for a thousand years_

Yuuri hopes the tears in their own eyes tell Viktor the same thing.

_I’ll love you for a thousand more_

Before they can stop themselves, talk themselves out of it, let their anxiety scare them away, they lean forward and rise ever so slightly onto the balls of their feet – like rising onto pointe for the first time, feeling pain and pleasure and the wonderful revelation of something that just feels right.

And right now, as the cello and piano sing behind them with notes as smooth as Viktor’s hair between their fingers and as soft as Viktor’s lips against their own, Yuuri is sure that nothing has ever felt as right as Viktor’s hands on their hips and his fingers in their hair.

Yuuri feels Viktor’s soft breath against the skin of their upper lip and in a spontaneous fit of mirth flares their nostril against the soft skin of Viktor’s nose. Viktor pulls away to giggle against Yuuri’s mouth, dropping a quick smooch on the tip of their nose before ducking ever so slightly to press their foreheads together lightly. The mental image of two cats butting their heads against each other rises to Yuuri’s mind unbidden, and they smile.

Viktor’s head tilts, curious, but whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by the gentle ting of their tiaras chiming together.

Yuuri had completely forgotten all about them.

A bout of surprised laughter bubbles in their throat, and they have to look away for a few seconds to calm themselves before they can meet Viktor’s eyes again.

Viktor opens his mouth once more, to say what, Yuuri doesn’t know, but they’re interrupted when what sounds like a young woman in the small crowd of shoppers filtering through the street screams, pointing at Viktor as she shouts to the whole street, “Oh my god, that’s Viktor Nikiforov!”

And then, a beat later, “Holy shit he’s with Katsudon!!”

* * *

Viktor feels the press of Yuuri’s chest against his, holds the outline of their frame in the palms of his hands. He knows what kind of body he cradles against his. He’s not as stupid as Yuri and Yakov would have you think. It’s just that he doesn’t understand the importance of some of the things he knows, so he never makes a big deal out of the knowledge.

He knows what kind of hand he holds as they run from the crowd, what kind of voice laughs in the wind as they race against each other, what kind of face he wants to cover in kisses until neither of them can breathe without tasting the other.

He also knows what kind of heart thrums the pulse he feels against his palm, what kind of smile he wants to wake up to in the morning, what kind of eyes he wouldn’t mind losing himself to.

And really, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

* * *

They run from the fans like there’s no tomorrow, dodging shoppers and laughing like maniacs. It’s insane and exhilarating and the mental image of Phichit having a break down while watching Instagram explode makes Yuuri’s breath stutter over another round of giggles.

Eventually they’re cornered on a dead end street by what looks like two and a half dozen people all with their phones out and their eyes wide. Yuuri stifles giggles into the shoulder of Viktor’s coat and a dozen flashes go off.

Viktor smirks like he was made to stand in front of a camera, pushing his hair back with one hand while the other wraps absent-mindedly around Yuuri’s waist. “What can I do for you lovelies this fine evening?” he says, as if they’ve just run into each other in the supermarket, and not been chased down like rabbits.

After Viktor has answered all their questions and given them all autographs, they’re free to return to the street performers and retrieve their shopping bags, kept safe by the smiling pianist. Yuuri thanks them profusely and Viktor drops quite a few bills into the open case at the cellist’s feet. The smile and wave as they leave, holding hands and brushing shoulders as they head back to the hotel.

In the hallway outside their door, Viktor drops kisses on Yuuri’s cheeks as they hum a lullaby into his ear. The fall asleep with the echo of Viktor’s voice in their ears, whispering wishes for sweet dreams.

Yuuri mourns the fact that not even such soft, loving words could keep the demons of their nightmares at bay.

* * *

“I’m so glad we have a man who can dance pointe,” one of the principle dancers sighs behind his back as he leaves a dance studio, shoulders up around his ears. “We can finally do Midsummer’s Night Dream now; I’ve always wanted to dance as Titania.” The pointe shoes in his bag burn a hole in his heart, because he didn’t learn to dance like a swan to be cast as a donkey.

“You don’t think he’ll try to audition for any of the female roles, do you?” another ballerina practically sneers as he pulls up his leg warmers, the flush high on his cheeks as he keeps his eyes trained down at the ground.

“It’s just not right, you know. Men are too heavy to support themselves on pointe. He’s going to injure himself.” Yuuri thinks of the hours spent in Minako’s studio, learning how to stretch and bend without breaking, how to craft his body into hard planes of delicate marble. He’s been on pointe for over a decade and knows just how much his body can stand before he calls it a day. There’s a reason he’s always the last one out of the studio.

“Yuuri, if you want to be a soloist then you’re going to have to nail these jumps. Run it again, and get it right this time.” Yuuri knows that his whole career is riding on being able to make it here, cast in a role he’s uncomfortable with in a company that doesn’t want him any other way. It’s getting exhausting, coming to practice and pretending that he doesn’t see the way the others scowl at his too-long hair and the sweaters he wears over his leotards.

I just don’t have the time to go to the hair-dresser, he tells them, it’s just a little cold in the studio.

Both lies.

Yuuri feels like a doll, a marionette, going through the motions without real thought or emotion. His feet feel like lead weights dragged down by the voice of every dancer who scorned him for daring to entertain the notion that he could rise up on pointe and dance like a ballerina when he’s only ever a half-rate danseur in their eyes.

“You’ll never be a ballerina,” they say. “And there are plenty of danseurs better than you. Why are you even here?”

He longs to cry out about his talent. “I belong here,” he thinks to himself, over and over and over like a broken record. “I could do so much if you would just let me dance for you!” He wonders when he started thinking that way. Like his style of dance was something that needed permission.

The thoughts circle like vultures and the words in his head scream so loudly he can’t hear the music he’s dancing to. When did he start dancing? What was he even dancing to? The music and the steps are so uninspired it doesn’t even matter. He dances the way they want him to and he feels empty inside despite the screaming, as if a fire has burned him from the inside and left nothing behind but the glowing embers of misery.

Phantom hands strike out from the darkness surrounding him, pulling at his hair and his weary limbs, pulling him down to the ground and holding him there. “Be grateful!” A harsh cacophony of voices shrieks out from the void. “Be grateful that we let you, a disgrace, dance in our company. We took a chance on you, vermin! We took a chance and you’re throwing it in our faces!”

Yuuri feels the tears burn down his face and he opens his mouth to call for help, give voice to the cacophony in his head but no sound comes. Sobs echo soundlessly in his throat and the blur of his vision smudges everything into one giant shadow. In the corner of his eye he spots a pinprick of something bright and he can’t help but reach for it. The light solidifies into a hand and Yuuri grabs on with all his might, trusting that anything is better than the hell he’s fallen into.

The darkness falls away and Yuuri finds himself… himself?… no, themselves… they find _themselves_ wrapped in Viktor’s arms like they’re something precious. The tears on their cheeks have vanished, but new ones rise up to spill over as they bury themselves in Viktor’s hold.

“There, there, Yura,” Viktor coos, running his fingers across Yuuri’s shoulders and through their short hair. “Oh, my precious, darling Yurachka. Do not listen to those terrible things they’ve told you.”

Yuuri hiccups a sob into Viktor’s chest, shaking their head. “You don’t understand,” they say. “You don’t know what it… what they…”

Viktor pulls back gently, cupping Yuuri’s face in his impossibly soft hands as he tilts his face into a lopsided smile. “Lyubov moya,” he says with a soft lilt to his voice, “I am in your head. I know everything you know. Every thought, every memory, every feeling. I understand it all and I am telling you that it is not true, my darling.”

Yuuri sniffs, confused. “What?”

Viktor laughs, spinning Yuuri around in a circle as if Yuuri is weightless and Viktor wants to keep them that way. “You are dreaming, solnyshko. It was all just a bad dream. You are not in Nashville any longer, blessed precious. You are with me, and with Yuri!” He looks around. “Why is Yuri not here to comfort you?”

Viktor sets Yuuri down gently, looking around the bright emptiness. “Yuri!! Come out here!!!”

“I don’t want to deal with your sappy bullshit!!” Yuri’s voice sounds around them, startling Yuuri into Viktor’s arms.

“Aaah,” Viktor sighs, arms wrapping around Yuuri’s waist. “Perhaps that is why.” He tilts his head as he smiles at Yuuri, a soft little thing that Yuuri wants to carve into marble and keep forever.

“He means well,” Yuuri says automatically, a knee jerk response that they weren’t aware they had.

“Of course,” Viktor giggles. “He is our little kotyonok, after all.”

Yuuri giggles as well, feeling as though they’ve just been made privy to a devious secret, and they lay their brow against Viktor’s collarbone.

“You do not need to worry yourself, my sweet,” Viktor says after a moment and Yuuri realizes that they’ve been pulled into [a slow waltz](https://youtu.be/J_phwlcdYrM?t=14) with Viktor leading. They look down to see that somehow Viktor has changed into a lovely magenta and fuchsia prince costume and they themselves are dressed in a matching royal blue and turquoise ball gown. Their hair is back to its regular length as well, hanging around their shoulders in soft, curling waves. They look back up to see that Viktor’s gold tiara twinkles from its perch on his head and they feel the gentle weight of their own tiara, woven into the waves of their hair.  

“That past is so far behind you it is ancient history,” Viktor whispers. He pulls Yuuri into a spin, the both of them swaying and stepping along to the leisurely bounce of the music that strums through Yuuri’s head. Their dance is a push and pull, both of them switching between lead and follow.

“Have I ever told you that you look positively divine in blue, zvezda moya?” Viktor whispers as he spreads his hand across the small of Yuuri’s back, pulling them in close.

Yuuri laughs, shaking their head as they lean into Viktor’s chest. “I don’t believe you have, Vitya.”

Viktor laughs gently, drawing Yuuri closer and resting his cheek against Yuuri’s brow. The music that echoes through Yuuri’s mind is slow and sweeping gently as they sway together and breathe together.

“You are always beautiful, lyubov moya,” Viktor murmurs. “You dance like you have wings. Every movement captivates me. Those who wish to ground you are fools underserving of your worry and your tears.”

Yuuri smiles, burying their face against Viktor’s neck. “Those are pretty words,” they murmur, “but you have said so yourself: you are in my head.” Yuuri sighs against the skin of Viktor’s throat. “You say what I want to hear, not what my Viktor truly thinks.”

Viktor nuzzles closer, if that were possible, and his thumb strokes across the fingers of Yuuri’s hand that rests in his gentle grip. “I am hurt, solnyshko moya.” His voice is soft, but Yuuri can feel the pout of his lips brushing against their ear, voice tilting into a tease. “Viktor says what Viktor thinks, no matter who’s head he is inside. I thought you knew that already, zolotse.”

Yuuri giggles, despite themselves. “Of course,” they murmur, teasing. “How could I ever forget?”

Viktor snorts, rubbing his nose against Yuuri’s ear until they giggle some more and he doesn’t stop until they shove him away with their shoulder. Viktor smiles, mischievous and satisfied, before pulling Yuuri back into his hold.

“Besides,” he says after a few more moments of gentle swaying. “I say nothing that is untrue. And nothing that you don’t already know.” He quirks a smirk at them, and Yuuri feels a smile rise to their face despite themselves.

“Ah, there is that gorgeous smile, zvyozdochka,” Viktor coos, turning Yuuri in a spin that makes the skirt of their dress sweep out behind them.

Yuuri laughs and lets Viktor lead for a while, enjoying the subtle push and pull of his body against theirs. They feel weightless and dreamlike, though they suppose that makes sense given that they are indeed inside a dream.

Yuuri tightens their hold on the fabric over Viktor’s shoulder, and they’re grateful that he doesn’t seem to notice the tension that rocks through them for just a moment before it’s smoothed away with one of his gorgeous smiles, lips frosted with the syllables of any number of pet names.

Yuuri smiles back, fist relaxing ever so slightly, but they can’t help the thought that bubbles up in their mind like oil to the top of a glass of water. No matter how hard they try to drown it out, it insists on making its presence known.

“What is on your mind, zolotse?” Viktor hums into their ear, eyes soft and worried as they trace along the wrinkle in Yuuri’s brow.

Yuuri ducks their head and opens their mouth to speak, but Viktor isn’t done. “And do not lie to me, my sweet. I am in your head, you know. Your every thought and feeling is mine to share.” He smiles gently, tipping Yuuri’s head up so that they meet his eyes. “Tell me, my love, it will make you feel better, I promise.”

Yuuri frowns, and voices the nagging thought that wouldn’t go away. It’s a messy, fragmented, oozing kind of thought that Yuuri doesn’t think they can articulate. But they try to anyway.

“For the past year and a half I’ve had nightmares, horrible, horrid things. You know. You’re in my head. You’ve seen them. This is the first time that,” tears prick their eyes, and Viktor coos as he reaches up to wipe them away, “this is the first time that this has happened. That something – someone good and happy has changed the dream. If that was all it took why hasn’t something like this happened before? Why do I still have nightmares? I know what happened, I remember it! I don’t need to relive it every other night! Why do… why does…”

Yuuri takes a sniffling inhale as Viktor draws them back to the crook of his neck, tucking them in so tight that their nose smushes uncomfortably against his throat. Yuuri snuggles in further.

“Hush, myshka moya, hush now,” Viktor soothes, hands running across their shoulders and hair. Yuuri sighs, soothed, but the sticky blackness of that thought remains like tar in their heart.

“No one knows why we dream, zolotse,” Viktor says, soft and gentle. “No one knows why we dream _what_ we dream. It simply is. Perhaps it is your brain reinforcing those memories. Perhaps it is your brain trying to motivate you to prove those horrid, horrible people wrong. Perhaps your brain is feeding off of your anxiety and is simply showing you the source. We may never know, and perhaps we would not want to know.”

Yuuri sniffs against the skin of Viktor’s neck.

Before either of them can say anymore, there’s a clattering thump from a few feet away and they’re both thrown to the ground as a soft weight settles on Viktor’s back. Yuuri looks up, startled, and breaks into a smile when their face is attacked by an overzealous puppy tongue.

“Vicchan!!” Yuuri practically squeals, scrambling to grab the puppy in their arms. They sit up, Viktor still lying sprawled across their lap, and hold the puppy as close to their chest as his wiggly little body will allow. Any words that Yuuri might have for the puppy remain unsaid because they’re 100% sure that if they were to open their mouth they’d end up French kissing with a toy poodle.

Viktor laughs, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he looks up at the two of them. “This little guy here wanted to comfort you too, but he said he was too afraid he’d just make you sadder.” Viktor mock-glares at the dog, and receives a self-satisfied boof in return. “I guess he’s changed his mind.”

Yuuri laughs, pressing their face into Vicchan’s side and inhaling the soft scent of dog from his fur. “Oh, Vicchan I’ve missed you!”

“You should visit home more often,” Viktor suggests softly. “They really miss you, zolotse.”

Yuuri hums and Vicchan settles into their lap, burrowing into the poofy, bunched up layers of their skirt. “I know,” they say softly as they run their fingers through Vicchan’s curly fur. “I keep meaning to but,” they sigh, “there’s just never a good time.”

Viktor nods, understanding. “They won’t judge you, Yura,” he reassures as Yuuri’s every concern flickers across their face and through both of their minds. “They loved you before you even existed in this world, and they’ll love you for every moment you’re in it. No matter what, lyubov moya, they will love every inch of you.”

Yuuri smiles, a sob caught in the back of their throat. Vicchan is asleep on their lap and they smile as they glance at Viktor. “Vitya,” they whisper, soft, “I think there’s a few people missing, don’t you?”

Viktor hums, thoughtful, and snaps his fingers with a smile. A flash of light sparks just above Viktor’s head and the next minute he’s being smothered by 60 pounds of happy poodle. “Makkachin!” Yuuri cries, delightedly leaning forwards to ruffle Makkachin’s ears the way they know he likes it.

Viktor’s response is an indignant shout muffled to incomprehension by Makkachin’s weight over his face. Yuuri laughs and coaxes Makkachin to step off of Viktor’s face and nestle into their side. Yuuri leans against Makkachin, making themselves comfortable against his warm weight.

“Why does he always listen to you more than me?!” Viktor whines, trying to pick stray poodle hairs out of his mouth and grimacing the whole time. Makkachin sniffs at Vicchan, boofing softly before he proceeds to lick the smaller dog’s ears, which makes Vicchan wiggle in delight.

Yuuri smiles, content, as one hand strokes Vicchan and the other pets Makkachin. “It’s probably because he loves me more,” Yuuri quips, and then before Viktor can contest this, “Or because I’m the only one who remembers to feed him regularly.”

Yuuri giggles as Viktor sputters in mock-offense before he breaks down into giggles right along-side them.

“Oi!” a new voice barks from above them. “Are you done with all the sappy bullshit now?”

Viktor and Yuuri look up with bright smiles on their faces, pulling a lightly flushed Yuri down into the cuddle pile as well, and as Yuuri feels themselves succumb to exhaustion, surrounded by the soft breaths and gentle warmth of their favorite people – their own little found family – they can’t help but think to themselves that maybe this is the last night that they’ll ever have that nightmare.

“Good morning, my precious Yura,” Viktor murmurs as Yuuri finally feels themselves slip away. “Zolotse, kotyonok, myshka moya, lyubov moya, zvezda moya, lapochka. My darling, my sweet, my love, my all. Anata,” Yuuri giggles at that one, and feels the phantom outline of lips against their cheek. “May your days be as sweet as your dreams.”

Yuuri hums, and then they’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****Again, Yuuri at the beginning of their dream is PAST YUURI when Yuuri used masculine pronouns and was thus a he and not a they. ***** 
> 
> so... yeah... sorry if the round and gold thing wasn't what you were expecting. To be honest I was going to have it be a pendant or a bun cage thing or a bracelet but NOOooooo I had the tiara idea at literally 5 am when my brain remembered that episode of Big Bang Theory where Sheldon buys Amy a tiara as an apology gift (or something like that) and then it just kind of... happened... I have no excuses.
> 
> Also, Yuuri and Viktor are soooo freaking extra. That dance scene was just supposed to be them dancing to give context for the dream (because I wrote that scene first before I had to rearrange) but noooooooooooo. These idiots are so sweet I swear I have cavities now. Viktor was also supposed to have a really extra "???????" moment when he eventually realized Yuuri was biologically male. WOuldn't be anything violent or negative, just super duper surprised. But instead he just kinda put his metaphorical hand on my metaphorical shoulder and went "I already know, and I really don't care" all soft and serious and dang it I can't say no to this kind of floof.
> 
> Also, on the topic of rearranging I was gonna have Chris and Yuuri and whoever-was-gonna-tag-along go pole dancing before jumping into the GPF but then I realized that my time tables weren't making sense (because who goes clubbing the day before a major competition *cough* Chris *cough* and if I stuck another day in for recoup then obviously that Russian blizzard would have blown over and Yakov and Lilia would be able to come down and we can't have that now can we? because plot.) So the pole dancing and *cough* dance battles *cough* will happen after the banquet instead of before the competition. Sorry about that.
> 
> I have no idea how much longer this story is going to be (honestly my brain really wants to sink its teeth into beanpots' [Night & Day AU](http://beanpots.tumblr.com/tagged/day-and-night-au) but I might just try for a one shot and then get back to focusing on this story) and I have no idea when the next update will be up, but I will try to have it up as soon as possible. Just know that it will be coming.
> 
> ENDEARMENT TRANSLATIONS (In no particular order)  
> zolotse - my gold  
> lapochka - sweetheart  
> myshka moya - my little mouse  
> zvezda moya - my star  
> solnyshko - little sun  
> solnyshko moya - my little sun  
> kotyonok - kitten  
> lyubov moya - my love  
> zvyozdochka - little star  
> Anata - literally translated to 'you' but often used like the English word 'darling' and reserved for wives speaking to their husbands. I couldn't find any Japanese endearments that weren't just stolen from English (i.e. Japanese pronunciations of honey, darling, etc.) From what I gather online it implies subservience.  
> *****Please let me know if I got any of the endearments wrong!! I am not fluent in Japanese or Russian!*****
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and an extra thank you to everyone who has dropped me a comment, a kudos, or a bookmark, it really inspires me to write. As always, if you have a question, comment, or concern drop it down in the comment box!


	9. Introducing: Attempts at Assholery, Nipping That JJ Shit in the BUD, and War Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The internet is a scary place......  
> ..........................................  
> ...............................  
> ......................  
> ................  
> ..... for haters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD!!!!!
> 
> Has anyone ever told you how much it sucks to be a high achiever with depression AND anxiety? No? Well have I got a story for YOU
> 
> Anyway, hopefully my attempt at writing news articles and comment sections makes sense and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> (no music this chapter)

 

**_ Breaking News!! Katsudon Cutie Revealed?!? _ **

Popular figure skating legend Viktor Nikiforov is known for his ever-surprising performances on the ice and his vibrant presence on Instagram. Recently, an unnamed individual began popping up in Nikiforov’s feed, remaining unnamed and unknown as they featured in photographs with Nikiforov himself as well as with many of the skater’s rinkmates in St. Petersburg. The hashtag #KatsudonCutie has been trending ever since as avid fans practically begged Nikiforov via various SNS to know just who it was that made such delicious looking Katsudon – and if they could get the recipe.

[insert image of one said mouth-watering Katsudon post, complete with Nikiforov’s numerous praying hands emojis]

It’s been highly speculated that Katsudon and Nikiforov are involved romantically with each other and there are many in-depth analyses of Nikiforov’s posts done by fans all over tumblr, twitter, Instagram, and even Facebook. Many had agreed that while Nikiforov’s relationship with Katsudon was close, it had likely not delved into anything beyond platonic. However, yesterday night many photos began popping up on various profiles featuring Nikiforov in the arms of none other than the Katsudon Cutie themselves, dancing to street performers in the middle of Barcelona. We’ve sorted through hundreds of photos and video clips to find the best ones. Just look at those moves. #goals

[insert images of the dancing followed by a short youtube video of Nikiforov and Katsudon sweeping each other off their feet, the video is slightly unstable and the music is hard to hear over the sound of excited chatter]

Of course, the drama really kicked up a notch when the ISU released a minor announcement about a program change in the Senior Men’s Grand Prix Final coaching lineup. Apparently, due to a blizzard grounding all flights from Pulvoko airport, coach Yakov Feltsman and choreographer Lilia Baranovskaya will remain in Russia while skater Yuri Plisetsky, Nikiforov’s rinkmate and last year’s Junior’s gold medalist, will skate his Senior Debut under the eye of Nikiforov himself with the aid of Japanese danseur Yuuri Katsuki, winner of the 2014 USA IBC.

Katsuki’s style of ballet came under fire after his victory at the USA IBC, many critics citing his incorporation of other dance styles – salsa, tango, and belly dancing to name a few – as a “contamination of the sanctity of ballet performance”.

[insert image of Katsuki’s earlier career, tango dancing in a studio with a female partner]

[insert image of Katsuki in a studio, practicing belly dancing with who has been identified as former college roommate Phichit Chulanont, one of the six competitors at this year’s Grand Prix Final and long-time friend of Katsuki]

[insert still image of Katsuki’s breathtaking USA IBC medal-winning performance]

It was revealed to us that Katsuki had been placed under the tutelage of former prima ballerina Lilia Baranovskaya, none other than Yuri Plisetsky’s choreographer. All in all, Katsuki seemed like nothing more than an accomplished – if controversial – danseur until one of Nikiforov’s fans noticed something interesting…

[insert side-by-side image of Katsuki and a mostly-full view of Katsudon taken from Nikiforov’s Instagram]

[insert side-by-side image of the previous Katsudon image and the Katsuki image photoshopped to have long hair]

Katsuki Yuuri, when you add long hair and a different pair of glasses, looks exactly like the infamous Katsudon Cutie. The revelation has yet to be confirmed by Nikiforov, Katsuki, or anyone of authority in the skating or ballet world but the theory has garnered much support as well as quite a lot of backlash from fans and critics alike.

[insert various Instagram and twitter comments showcasing the public’s reaction to the reveal]

Whether you side with Katsuki or against him you have to admit, the man rocks a tiara.

[insert close up image of Katsuki/Katsudon from Barcelona, smiling as the tiara twinkles]

 

* * *

 

Phichit wants to be angry. He really, really wants to be upset with Yuuri about this. He’s their best friend in the whole wide world and he has to find out about a development this important from the internet?! Any other day and Phichit would throw a Madonna level diva tantrum of such proportions that astronauts would be able to see the blast radius from space.

But… as Phichit scrolls though comment after comment after comment, he can’t really find it in himself to be angry at Yuuri for not telling him that they kissed Viktor.

He’s too busy being angry at the internet for every single hateful word and horrible slur that seems to cling to the comment section like clotted blood. Phichit scowls, turns off his phone, and makes a decision.

 

* * *

 

** Comments (58,357) **

 

* * *

 

Phichit finds Yuri first. The little Russian is angry, this much is obvious, and he’s typing onto his phone like every jab of his fingers is going to be felt by whoever he’s messaging.

“Oi, Little Yuri,” Phichit calls when it looks like Yuri is between messages. “I take it you’ve seen the comments?”

Yuri growls, not looking up from his phone. “Phichit, you’re great,” he says, voice tight, “but if you’re just gonna state the obvious I’m gonna have to ask you to do it elsewhere because I’m kinda busy verbally eviscerating these pricks on tumblr. God, why did the ISU have to go and publish the coach change? It’s not like it’s breaking news! Why do idiots have to take pictures of private moments?! Do they not have common decency?! God!!”

Phichit’s not really sure whether Yuri is actually asking him those questions or if he’s just ranting out loud, so he just ignores it for now. “Have you talked to Viktor yet?”

Yuri shakes his head. “The idiot’s still asleep,” he says. “I was gonna go wake up Yura but god I’ve been putting it off.” He raises his head to look at Phichit for the first time, face pained. “It’s like waking sleeping kittens.”

Phichit snorts, nodding as he takes a breath to hold back the giggle fit threatening to bubble up his throat. “I know what you mean,” he says. “I had the same issue when we roomed together. Don’t worry though. Yuuri has the internet presence of my grandmother and I’m pretty sure most of their notifications are turned off anyway.”

Yuri nods. “I figured. God, I am not looking forward to the absolute shit show the media’s going to make of this.”

Phichit hums. “Well, my favorite second Yuri, I may have a plan.”

 

* * *

****

**HaloIt’sMe  
** I LIVE for Viktor’s Katsudon posts!! I wonder if Yuuri would give us his recipe!!!!!

 **FingerGuns  
               ** I know what you mean!!! I want it in muh belly!!!!!

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri has no qualms in throwing Viktor out of his bed and onto the floor, slapping the sleep out of him while Phichit rallies the troops. They form what can only be described as a war council on the floor of Viktor’s hotel room, skaters from almost every division piling into the room in support of Yuuri.

Otabek sits poised and stoic at Yuri’s left, a direct contrast to the young skater’s almost manic energy. Christophe and Phichit chat quietly, flanking Viktor on either side and pulling him into the conversation as well. Michele Crispino insists that he’s only there to keep an eye on Sara, who is there because she’s heard quite a lot about Yuuri from Mila. She and Mila chat with Emil, who decided to tag along with Mickey because he didn’t really have anything else to do.

Surprisingly, JJ and Isabella decided to answer the all-call and are currently having a mild discussion about music with Leo. Yuri wants to be angry that JJ decided to show up, but skaters stick together and he’s Canadian after all so he can’t be that big of an asshole.

Once it’s clear that everyone who’s going to come to the assembly is already in attendance, Phichit calls them all to order. Everyone settles down quickly and the meeting begins.

“We’re all gathered here today because the internet is stupid and Yuuri Katsuki is a precious cinnamon roll that needs to be protected.” There are nods of agreement all around and Phichit smiles. “Now that the ISU has made a statement on Viktor and Yuuri being Little Yuri’s coaches instead of Yakov, everyone’s going apples and bananas.”

“Oh,” Sara coos, interrupting for just a moment. “They’re that cutie who was standing next to Viktor the other day, right? At the practice session?” She turns to Mila with a frown on her face. “I wish you would have introduced me! I’ve been wanting to meet them for _forever_.”

“ _That_ was Yuuri Katsuki?!” JJ blurts out, face flush and eyes wide. “They totally glared at me while I was on the rink!!”

Viktor tilts his head, trying to remember Yuuri ever glaring at anyone and… oh, yeah, “Yuuri had to take their glasses off because they were fogging up,” Viktor says. “They weren’t glaring; they were squinting because they couldn’t see.”

“Why were they looking at me in the first place?!” JJ insists, though he seems more curious and defensive than actually upset.

“Yuuri’s good at reading your thoughts through your performance,” Phichit supplies while Yuri smiles with satisfaction beside him. “Were you worrying about something on the ice?”

JJ’s chest puffs up with false bravado but as he adamantly denies any insecurity, his grip on Isabella’s hand suggests that they’ll be having a little heart-to-heart later on.

“We’re getting off topic!” Yuri interrupts, gaining everyone’s attention once again. “If we’re going to keep this whole event from becoming a media circus and a publicity nightmare, then we’re going to have to need a plan. Phichit?”

“There are three goals to The Plan,” Phichit explains with a smile as all eyes turn towards him. “One, don’t leave Yuuri alone anywhere near fans, reporters, or paparazzi. Viktor, can you make sure to stay with Yuuri during the Final?”

Viktor nods. “Of course, it should be easy to keep them close since we’ll be together for most of it anyway.”

Phichit smiles. “Good, let us know if you need backup at any time. I’ll try to stay close as well. Little Yuri?”

Yuri snorts. “Anyone tries to lay a finger on Yura and they’ll lose it, I guarantee you.”

Phichit’s smile turns almost devious with satisfaction. “Perfect,” he says, turning back to the group. “Now for the fun stuff.”

 

* * *

 

 **TheReelGangsta**  
Who cares whether the dude wears a dress? Man looks bomb as hell.

 **Potaytoe**  
               Real men don’t wear dresses

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor, Yuri, and Phichit all pile into Yuuri’s hotel room once the meeting is adjourned and waking up Yuuri is left to Viktor since he lost the rock-paper-scissors match to determine what unfortunate soul would have to wake Sleeping Beauty – Viktor’s words not Phichit’s, though he can’t say he disagrees.

Viktor shakes Yuuri’s shoulders as delicately as he can, but Phichit knows for a fact that it takes a lot more than that to wake up a sleeping Yuuri.

Five minutes later Phichit hardens his heart and takes pity on Viktor, saying in a mildly loud voice, “Yuuri your morning class started twenty minutes ago.”

As always, it never fails to have Yuuri practically vaulting out of bed and into the arms of a very surprised Viktor Nikiforov. Though the Viktor part is certainly new.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, eyes trailing from the man holding them to the other two men standing a few feet away. “Yuri? Phichit?” They blink, eyebrows furrowing as their brain fights against the last few dregs of sleep. “What are you doing in my room? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the Grand Prix Final?”

“Really, Yuuri,” Phichit says, plopping his makeup case on Yuuri’s bed and throwing the garment bag with his costume in it over the back of the desk chair. “You’re the one who needs to be getting ready right now.”

Yuuri blinks, a sudden flush rising to their cheeks as they realize that Viktor’s arms have settled comfortably around their middle. They lean into the hold, shifting so that their shoulder doesn’t dig into Viktor’s chest. “What do you mean?”

Phichit smirks, cracking open the makeup case and smiling as Yuuri’s eyes trail over the familiar boxes, tins, and tubes. “You’re going into a battlefield today, Yuuri,” he says. “You’re going to need some war paint.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **DoddleDoo**  
Mama always did say to get you a man that could cook. Too bad this one’s taken tho amirite?

              **Katsudone**  
              Shit bro, I just realized… Viktor + Yuuri = Viktuuri

              **DoodleDoo**  
              OMG like VICTORY?!?!

              **YUNOPE**  
              Illuminati confirmed!!!!

              **Katsudone**  
              Plisetsky’s gold is medal assured ;)

 **Potaytoe**  
              That kid won’t be winning anything with a tranny for a coach 

 

* * *

 

 

At this point Phichit is practically a professional at doing Yuuri’s makeup. That season in Nashville had been torture without Phichit there to even out their foundation and get just the right angle on their eyeliner.

Now though, Yuuri sits in the desk chair of their hotel room as Phichit flits around in front of them with pots of pigment and brushes of all colors and sizes. Out of the corner of their eye they can see Yuri tapping away angrily on his phone and Viktor sits cross-legged on the bed, providing critique and suggestions for color combinations.

Yuuri catches glimpses of themselves in the mirror over Phichit’s shoulder, the natural flush of their skin hidden behind a light layer of liquid foundation and set with powder that makes their face look airbrushed and baby soft.

War paint indeed, Yuuri thinks to themselves. They feel like an archangel, strong enough to fight a lion.

“Are you going to wear your glasses, Yuuri?” Phichit asks, pulling them away from their thoughts.

Yuuri hums. “I hadn’t thought about it. Since my glasses fog up whenever I’m rink-side I might, but I really want to be able to see everyone skate…”

Phichit taps the floofy brush held in his hand against his chin, mouth pinched in thought. “Don’t you have contacts?” he asks, and Yuuri blinks.

“I haven’t worn them in so long I forgot,” they say. “I usually keep a few packs in my toiletries just in case. I don’t think my prescription has changed since I got them so they should be good to go. Why?”

Phichit’s smile turns all too innocent. “You look lovely in your glasses, Yuuri,” he says, “but if you’re not going to wear them then that means I can really make your even lovelier eyes pop. Viktor hand me that blue eyeshadow.”

 

* * *

 

 **Slut4Donots**  
Dang I’ve been calling Katsudon a she this whole time. He’s such a convincing girl. Mind = Blown.

 **SaraParker**  
               Mayb they’re nb? Viktor uses they pronouns on his Insta posts

 **Slut4Donots**  
               Shit ur right.

 **DoodleDoo**  
               Oh dang, should I edit my posts? Change the he to they?

 **Potaytoe**  
               Change the he to it because there’s no way that bitch is human

 **Slut4Donuts  
**                Dude, wtf

 

* * *

 

When Phichit finishes with Yuuri’s full face they shoo Viktor out of the room so that he’ll get dressed and they can change too. Phichit coos over the outfit that Viktor had helped Yuuri pick out and Yuri gives a thumbs up from where he’s moved to settle onto the bed.

Yuuri straightens the lapels of the sapphire blue walker coat and looks themselves over in the mirror. They look quite nice, actually, and they feel very comfortable. The coat stops above their knees, showing a strip of black legging between the bottom hem of the coat and the top of their brown leather boots.

“You look so good, Yuuri,” Phichit gushes. “So sleek and professional.”

Yuuri fiddles with the collar of their cream turtleneck, suddenly nervous. “You think so?”

Phichit nods enthusiastically. “Oh, I know so,” he says. “Little Yuri agrees, right?”

Yuri looks up from his phone at the mention of his name. “Of course,” he says. “Yuuri looks amazing in anything.”

Yuuri feels their face erupt into flames while Phichit just laughs good naturedly, turning back to Yuuri. “Have you thought about what you want to do with your hair?”

Yuuri hums, tugging at a few strands thoughtfully. “I wanted to put it up,” they admit. “Maybe in a braid? Or a bun?”

Phichit pauses for a moment, lost in thought before he snaps his fingers and turns a blinding smile on Yuuri. “Why not both?” he gushes. “Please let me do it for you!?”

Yuuri laughs, stepping into the bathroom to grab their hair products. “I can do it myself, you know,” they say in jest.

“Just because you can do something yourself does not mean that you should have to, Yuuri Katsuki,” Phichit scolds as he lightly shoves Yuuri back into the chair and takes the products from their hands. “I haven’t got to mess with your hair in a whole year, I’ve been deprived!”

Yuuri laughs but settles in to their best friend’s touch as he works the comb through it.

 

* * *

 

 **Potaytoe**  
[post removed for violating community standards]

 

 

* * *

 

Just as Phichit is almost done with tucking in the loose strands of hair, the phone in Yuuri’s pocket buzzes. Phichit freezes, eyes like a hawk as Yuuri pulls the phone out and glances at the caller ID.

“Oh,” Yuuri murmurs, accepting the face-time call and then greeting in Japanese, “Hey mom.”

Yuuri’s mother’s face is not the only one in the frame, and Yuuri can see more heads behind her. She must be in the dining room of the onsen. “Yuuri, darling,” she says in chirpy Japanese. “How are you?”

Yuuri tilts the phone so that their mother can see Phichit standing behind them. Phichit waves and greets Hiroko in well-practiced Japanese. “Hello, Mama Katsuki.”

Hiroko beams. “Hello, Picchan!” she coos, and then in English says to him, “Are you taking good care of my baby?”

Phichit laughs, holding up the hairbrush and fist full of bobby pins. “As much as they’ll let me,” he says. “We’re getting ready for the Grand Prix Final.”

Hiroko laughs and nods eagerly. “I heard,” she says in somewhat stilted English, not wanting to leave Phichit out of the conversation now that she knows he’s there. “Yuuri, you coach?”

“Ah, yeah,” Yuuri says, “Viktor and I are Yuri’s official coaches for the Grand Prix Final.”

Hiroko beams. “Good, good,” she says, mouth pouting in concentration as she tries to form her next sentence. “We will watch you,” she says. “On the television. Live stream?”

Yuuri nods, pausing. “Wait, is _everyone_ going to watch the live stream?”

Hiroko nods, moving the camera so that Yuuri can see that everyone in the dining room is sitting around a television. Tadashi is settled in front of it, fiddling with a laptop and wires as he presumably tries to get the live stream on the big screen.

“Everyone,” she calls to the dining room in Japanese, “say hi to Yuuri and Picchan!!”

There’s a round of enthusiastic greetings and Yuuri smiles. “Mom, I’m not even the one skating,” they say, but Hiroko shakes her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “You will be on television, so we will watch.”

Yuuri’s smile wobbles with emotion and they nod, “Thank you.”

Hiroko opens her mouth to say more but is cut off by a rambunctious laugh and hands grabbing for the phone. “Yuuuri~” Minako coos as her slightly flushed face comes into focus on the screen, words a slurred mixture of Japanese and English. “Yuuri why didn’t you tell me you were making the moves on that beef-cake Nikiforov, huh? I had to learn from Yuuko!!”

Yuuri blinks. “What do you mean?” they say, and Phichit suddenly has twelve heart attacks all at the same time.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he reassures, desperately begging Minako with his eyes. Shut up, he thinks. Don’t tell them!

“Oh, you know,” Minako gushes onwards anyways. “It’s all over the news now. I should have known you were the Katsudon Cutie, I’d know that recipe anywhere after all, but you grew your hair out!” She pouts. “Why didn’t you tell us you grew your hair out?! Your mother has a box of amazing kanzashi that I can’t wait to put in your hair! Don’t you, Hiroko?”

Yuuri’s mom gently takes the phone away. “Minako,” she chides in rapid Japanese and though Phichit can’t understand most of it he knows a disappointed mother when he sees one. “We weren’t going to bring that up, remember?!”

She turns to Yuuri, face apologetic. “I’m sorry, Yuuri,” she says in English. “Minako is… drunk?” Yuuri nods and Hiroko carries on. “We saw the news the morning.” Her face is conflicted, like there’s thousands of words she wants to say but can’t quite figure out how to. She settles on simply saying, “your dancing was beautiful,” and, “we love you.”

Phichit can tell Yuuri is confused, and Hiroko must pick up on it as well because she smiles up at him with that warmth that always seemed uniquely Katsuki. “Take care of my baby, Picchan,” she says. “And good luck on your skating.”

Phichit smiles. “Of course, Mama Katsuki,” he says. “Don’t you want to wish Little Yuri good luck too?”

Hiroko blinks. “Little Yuri?” he repeats, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Yuuri’s skater?”

Phichit nods and turns to where Little Yuri had been sitting, attentive and curious but hesitant to interrupt. “Come meet Mama Katsuki,” Phichit says, beckoning with his head as Yuri stands up and walks over.

Hiroko’s face lights up when Yuri comes into frame and her voice is warm as she greets him. “Hello, Yuri,” she says. “You are my baby’s skater?”

Yuri, slightly nervous says, “Yes, ma’am. Yuuri takes good care of me.”

Hiroko smiles, pleased. “Oh, good,” she says. “You and my Yuuri are both Yuri, yes? How confusing.” Her face puckers slightly and Yuri blushes.

“We call Yuuri Yura here,” he says. “It’s a Russian nickname.”

Hiroko’s eyes light up. “Then,” she says, excited. “I give you a Japanese nickname?”

Yuri blinks and thinks it over. “I suppose,” he says. “It’s only fair.”

Hiroko nods, face pursing in thought before she turns around and speaks in rapid Japanese to the woman walking past. Phichit recognizes her as Yuuri’s older sister.

“A nickname?” Mari Katsuki says, thoughtful. “Yuuko already has Yuuchan, so we can’t use that.”

Hiroko nods. “Something else, then?”

Mari takes a good look at Yuri, eyes critical before her face explodes in a giddy smile. “Yurio!” she declares, turning to her mother. “It fits, yes? Doesn’t he look like Takao?”

Hiroko nods, though her brows furrow as she tries to remember who Takao is and why he’s important. She turns back to Phichit and Yuri. “Yurio?” she asks in English.

Yuri rolls the syllables over his tongue and smiles. “I like it,” he says, a bashful smile on his face.

Both Katsuki women return the smile. “Good,” Hiroko says. “I am glad.” A commotion breaks out behind her and she sighs. “I must go,” she says, resigned. “Take good care of my baby, Yurio, and good luck on your skating.”

“Thank you,” Yuri says, waving as they exchange farewells and the call cuts out.

The three of them sit in silence for a moment before Yuuri finally speaks up. “Phichit,” they say, voice deceptively calm. “Why was I on the news?”

 Phichit takes a breath, brain rapidly running through different excuses and trying to find the one least likely to cause an anxiety attack of epic proportions. He’s deciding between telling Yuuri they won the lottery and pretending he suddenly can’t understand English when little Yuri takes one look at Yuuri’s reflection in the mirror and says, “someone took a picture of you dancing with Viktor.”

Time seems to freeze, Phichit’s breath held in his lungs while Yuuri sits in agonizing silence.

“Oh,” they say, “were they good photos?”

Yuri fucking hums at this, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “I mean they were kinda blurry, and the lighting wasn’t that great but you guys looked like you were having fun so it wasn’t that bad.”

“And you’re not mad?” Yuuri asks, and Phichit begins to wonder if he’s suddenly been transported to an alternate dimension where up is down and left is right because nothing makes sense anymore.

“Why would I be mad?” Yuri responds, as if this is a _normal conversation to be having_.

Yuuri shrugs, “I mean, we are your co-coaches so,” they trail off and Yuri snorts.

“You’ve been mooning over each other since day one, if anything I’m happy you idiots finally got your heads on straight.” Yuri pauses. “Or, well, not-straight in this case.”

Yuuri laughs at this. “Very not-straight, indeed,” they agree.

And that’s that.

“Wait a minute,” Phichit says, holding up one hand while the other pinches between his brows. Yuuri finally sees fit to turn around in the swivel chair so that they’re speaking face-to-face instead of through reflections in the mirror. “Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”

Yuuri blinks. “It’s just dancing,” Yuuri says. “I was pretty sure there would be pictures since we were mobbed by fans right afterwards.” Phichit’s head tilts in thought and yeah, that makes sense.

“Besides,” Yuuri continues, shoulders shrugging. “It’s not like anyone knows who I am or anything,” Yuuri looks Phichit dead in the eye, “right?”

Phichit freezes, and those eyes are so pure and so innocent that he just can’t lie to them. In another life Katsuki Yuuri is a police detective with an impressive number of arrests purely because even hardened criminals can’t look into those angel eyes and tell a lie. Phichit knows he’s fucked.

And when he takes too long to respond, Yuuri’s eyebrow lifts and it’s so much like Mama Katsuki’s patent pending you’re-not-telling-me-something face that Phichit just _can’t_ anymore.

“The ISU released a statement,” Phichit gushes before he can change his mind, “about the coach switch.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees little Yuri’s head whip around but the boy has to understand the effects of an Expectant Katsuki stare.

Yuuri’s eyes widen, clearly waiting for what this has to do with anything.

“The internet put two and two together,” Phichit admits, like he was the one to lay down the clues and lead those hungry hounds down Yuuri’s scent trail. “They know who you are.”

This time it’s Yuuri who feels time slow down, the monster that is their anxiety beating angrily on the doors of its cage, desperate to be released into Yuuri’s mind and cause all the damage it wants. Yuuri feels their chest seize, the first few cracks on the old wood door, and the beast howls with pleasure. One more hard hit and Yuuri’s a goner.

“Oi, Yura,” Yuri snaps, and Yuuri takes a startled breath as his hands land on their shoulders. The touch is firm and grounding and Yuuri’s hands dart up to circle around Yuri’s wrists. Yuuri looks into Yuri’s eyes, seeing nothing but determination and concern in those emerald depths.

Yuuri has so many questions, and their lips quiver as they try to figure out where to start.

“Oi,” Yuri says again, giving Yuuri a light shake. “Don’t say anything,” he says. “Just listen to me for a second.” Yuuri nods and Yuri takes a deep breath. “The internet is fucking stupid,” he begins. “They’ve taken this story and they’ve run with it. A lot of people are making this a big deal, a lot of people are upset, and a lot of people are just being assholes.”

Yuri scans Yuuri’s face to make sure they’re paying attention. “There’s a lot of hate going on out there, but it’s all people who don’t matter. It’s idiots with a keyboard and a wifi connection who have nothing better to do with their time than make up bullshit on the internet. Viktor’s Instagram fans are going bat shit googling your name and watching your performances on YouTube. I’ve gotten a bajillion messages from my own followers trying to make sure that you’re okay. We literally had a meeting this morning, and every single skater you’ve ever met and a few more that you haven’t were all ready and willing to make sure that this craziness didn’t go too far.”

Yuri takes a breath and looks Yura straight in the eye. “No matter what anyone says, you are an amazing dancer, a phenomenal coach, and a positively angelic human being and anyone who wants to say otherwise can fight me.”

Yuuri takes a shuddering breath and Phichit darts forward, mind elsewhere. “Oh, Yuuri,” he says without thinking, “no, don’t cry, please you’ll smudge your makeup!”

This shocks a laugh out of Yuuri and tears fall anyways. Well, Phichit thinks, at least he had had the good sense to use waterproof mascara.   

Phichit sighs, picking up the box of tissues and handing it over. “Yuuri, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to panic. You’ve done such a good job coaching Little Yuri, I wanted the whole world to see how amazing you were.” Phichit can’t help the pout of his mouth as he mutters, “we had a plan and everything.”

Yuuri laughs again, dabbing the corners of their eyes as they smile. “I’m sure it was a great plan, Phichit,” they reassure, “but I’m glad that I know. I’m used to this kind of stuff happening on the internet, it’s part of the reason why I’m not active on SNS.”

Yuri and Phichit share a meaningful look. They will be having _words_ with the internet.

“Do you still want us to keep the paparazzi away from you?” Phichit asks, a little hopeful, but Yuuri shakes their head.

“No,” they say **.** “Running away from problems only makes them chase you.” They look up, determined. “I’m done running.”

Phichit smiles, but turns to pick up the eyeliner brush. “Well, if you’re gonna face this battle head on we’re going to need to touch up your war paint. You gonna stick around, Little Yuri? Or should I call you Yurio now?”

Yuri shrugs. “Whichever,” he says. “I’m gonna go get ready and tell everyone about the change of plans.”

Phichit nods, turning to Yuuri as the door closes behind him.

“Now,” he says, holding up the brush and a palate of eyeliner. “Where were we?”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Potaytoe**  
[post removed for violating community standards]

 **Potaytoe**  
               Who the hell keeps blocking me this is bullshit

 **ChrissChross**  
               Wouldn’t have to block you if you weren’t an asshole bigot with a big mouth. Compensating for something?

 **YUNOPE**  
               obviously he’s got more dick in his personality than in his pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things... (edit: more than a few things, actually, but they're important)
> 
> 1) before anyone asks yes Yuri is Phichit's favorite second Yuri and not his second favorite. I'm stealing this from my mother who insists that I am her favorite first daughter and my younger sister is her favorite second daughter despite that one time she derped and accidentally called my sister the second favorite instead. It was two years ago. She has yet to live it down.
> 
> 2) I deliberated for a while on Yuuri's reaction to the news that they were on the news because on one hand canon crippling anxiety but on the other hand my Yuuri is a bit more sure of themselves and they've just had that really empowering dream and they already knew that fans were there so it's honestly not that big of a surprise... Plus it just didn't feel right to have Phichit keep Yuuri in the dark. Eventually they'd be mobbed by reporters and then they'd just be absolutely fucked. With-holding information is never the way to go in these situations people. 
> 
> 3) makeup is war paint and anyone who tells you differently is lying. Paint that face. Be a badass! HUAH!!!!
> 
> 4) Nipping JJ's angst in the bud because we're all about CONVERSATIONS here in this story!
> 
> 5) You will notice that I very blatantly didn't mention the KISS in this chapter (at least I'm pretty sure I didn't). I wonder what that means?
> 
> ANYWAY thank you so much to everyone who has read this story, thank you especially to everyone who has REREAD it because that ABSOLUTELY blows my mind. Everyone who has commented also has a special place in my heart even if I haven't yet responded to your comment that's mostly because the only thing my brain can think of when I read most of them is just keyboard smashes because you're all amazing and I appreciate every single one of your kudoses and your EXTRA KUDOSES like WHAT OMG ASDFGHJKL!!!!!! And.. yeah. 
> 
> If you wanna hit me up you can find me on tumblr, same username, zadabug98, I'm too lazy to link it in but you can find it in earlier chapters or just search me up. 
> 
> I'll try to have the next chapter out in a few weeks time. I'm getting my act together at school so my free time should open up a bit more as things settle down. Sorry these updates are taking so long now but honestly school is a bitch. 
> 
> I might try to put out a floofy one shot for V Day but we'll see. Hope everyone has a happy valentine's day either way, and even if you don't have a date you can be your own valentine because you're WORTH IT BABY!!!!


	10. Glitter Pots, Cheap Shots, and Not All Reporters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, how are you doing this lovely March evening? Ready for 5,000+ words worth of emotions?
> 
> There's no music in this chapter, unless you wanna jam to some Yonce with me because that's what I listened to while I was proof-reading earlier and I plugged one of my favorites as background music in one scene.
> 
> Quick disclaimer, any association of the random names and usernames that are used in this fic are unintentional except for like two of them because I based them off of my own name so whatever (shameless self insert alert). Also a cameo by the city/area where I'm currently going to school. 
> 
> Hope you like it!!!

_pikapikaplisetsky_ via _viktor-nikiforov-official-fanclub_

**Update: Bitch, you thought!**

As everyone probably knows by this point the identity of our favorite internet cryptid, the one and only KatsudonCutie, has been unofficially confirmed as one Yuuri Katsuki, Japanese danseur and as of last night’s statement, co-coach of our favorite little ice tiger Yuri Plisetsky. The internet exploded, Tumblr and twitter were down for what felt like hours, and photographs of The Dance began to circulate from Tumblr to twitter to Facebook and back again like a playboy magazine making the rounds through the hands of heterosexual (and bi) frat boys. Everyone thought this day couldn’t get any crazier.

At the risk of sounding redundant, “BITCH, YOU THOUGHT!”

A few hours ago, this photo and many like it began popping up on a few lesser known Viktor Nikiforov fan-blogs, and this fan blog was quick to jump on it. The images were all a little blurry, the lighting was NOT selfie-standard, and all the good bits were covered by that glorious head of ebony hair but we messaged the original posters, and from their testimonies (and a LOT of keyboard smashing) we were able to piece together the facts.

You are indeed seeing, what you think you’re seeing: our lord and savior, Elsa of the East, Ice Prince of our hearts and holder of our souls, locking lips with none other than the holder of the recipe, the reigning sovereign of all things pure and holy, cinnamon roll to put them all to shame, the one, the only, Katsu-mother fucking-don CUTIE!!!

They danced, they SANG, they KISSED!!!! Disney where are you, get on this story already oh my GOD!!!!

 

* * *

 

Viktor comes back into the room and pouts like a 3-year old pageant contestant when Phichit tells him the change of plans. “But Yura,” he whines, draping himself over Yuuri’s shoulders. “I wanted to be your knight in shining armor! It was going to be so romantic!”

Yuuri laughs and pecks him on the nose with a smile. “It’s alright, darling,” Yuuri says. “But I can fight my own battles, you know.”

Viktor coos, rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s as they giggle at his silliness.

Phichit blinks in surprise and narrows his eyes. “There’s something I’m missing,” he says. “You two were _not_ this romantic yesterday.”

Yuuri and Viktor look up at him, and Viktor’s eyes go soft at the same time that a faint blush rises to Yuuri’s cheeks. Well, if that isn’t the most suspicious thing Phichit has ever seen. “What happened?” he demands. “You’re keeping something from me, Yuuri Katsuki, and as your best friend I demand to know what it is.”

Right at that moment, Yuri busts through the door wielding his phone like it’s both the most valuable and most repulsive thing he’s ever seen. His face as he looks at Yuuri and Viktor is one of delighted horror. “You dumbasses _kissed_ ,” he roars, “and neither of you thought to _tell me_?”

Phichit gasps and holds his hand to his face like he’s coming down with a case of the vapors, eyes misting with betrayal as he turns to Yuuri. His mouth opens, but he has so many questions and comments and concerns that they all get stuck in the back of his throat in a disbelieving squeak.

Yuuri tilts their head, eyebrows drawing together as if they are the ones who need an explanation for this injustice. “You didn’t know?” they ask, innocent as can be, “when you said there were pictures I figured…”

Viktor hums, absently rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s. “Maybe no one got a good enough shot,” he says. “It was quite dark, and it was a rather short kiss, really.”

Yuuri hums, thoughtful, as Yuri starts into a rant sprinkled with curses that would make a sailor blush and Phichit…

Well, Phichit.exe has stopped working.

 

* * *

**2theviktorgoesthekatsudon**  
Hey guys, so if you haven’t seen  this article then you nEED TO SEE IT NOW OH MY GOD GO READ IT I’m LITERALLY SCREAMING RIGHT NOW I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS!! VIVA LA VIKTUURI!!!

**2theviktorgoesthekatsudon**  
UPDATE: I DIDN’T KNOW IT COULD GET BETTER BUT OH MY FLUFFING GOD HAVE YOU SEEN  THIS?!?!?!?! 

 

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Yuri says, pacing back and forth in tandem with Phichit as Yuuri and Viktor sit on their ankles on the bed like scolded children. “You two idiots finally got your shit together, confessed your undying love for each other through song, made out in front of a crowd of people, and didn’t think to tell either of _us_!?” He gestures at himself and Phichit with frantic movements, face pinched in anger as his hands fly around him in a visual representation of his mental frustration.

Yuuri looks down and immediately Yuri feels a stab of white-hot pain shoot through his chest. “Damn it, Yura,” Yuri growls with an edge of pain tilting his words into a slight whine. “Stop making it so hard for me to be mad at you!”

Yuuri’s head pops up, tilted in question, and Yuri scowls at their stupid oblivious face.

Phichit breaks character to giggle and squish Yuuri’s cheeks until they look more like a confused fish than a kicked puppy. Yuri has long resolved not to question Phichit’s methods when he can’t deny the results. Fish-face Yuuri is still adorable but not quite as cripplingly cute as puppy-face Yuuri.

Viktor eyes fish-Yuuri with something akin to befuddled amusement but he turns to Yuri, not a single ounce of regret in his voice as he says, “I’m sorry, Yuri.”

Yuri snorts but shrugs. Honestly that’s probably the best he’s going to get out of the old geezer and it’s not like Yuri has ever made him believe that he wanted to hear about his stupid romances anyway.

“It wi’a’awy ha’en’n waff ni,” Yuuri says, cheeks still squished by a delighted looking Phichit, and somehow Yuri understands that. He’s probably fluent in baby talk by now, having hung around so many adult-sized toddlers for most of his life.

“Yeah, well, who cares if it only happened last night,” Yuri says. “You’ve been hanging around us all morning, you could’ve told us literally anytime!”

Yuuri’s eyebrows furrow into the closest Yuri has ever seen them come to a full-on glare as they bat Phichit’s hands away. They look like an annoyed kitten.

“You really think I’m going to tell you guys something like that when you’ve got pointy sticks and brushes within inches of my eyeballs?!” they retort and it is, Yuri admits, a rather valid point.

Yuri’s face puckers before he releases all of the tension in his body with one long exhale. “Fine,” he says. “Fine.”

“Just, next time,” Phichit picks up, settled on the floor in front of Yuuri and Viktor, “tell us before your fan blogs do.”

Yuuri smiles, slipping down to give Phichit a hug and the scuffle they hear beside them must mean that Yuri was too slow to avoid Viktor’s matching embrace.

 

* * *

 

**LadyAndATramp**  
Soo… just wondering… why haven’t we heard anything confirming this Katsudon thing? Shouldn’t someone have confirmed/denied by this point?

**ClaraRingMyBell**  
Everyone’s probably getting ready for the Grand Prix Final. It starts in like three hours or something.

**27T00thp1ck5**  
Here’s the livestream if you wanna watch, be prepared for a crappy connection though, these things are never reliable

**VikVakVogue**  
If you’re in the Boone/Watauga County area hit me up, we’re having a screening party in Stanford Mall. Bring Your Own Blanket!!

 

* * *

Yuuri realizes too late that maybe they should have taken Yuri up on his body-guard idea and asked the other skaters to stick around instead of sending them on ahead. Reporters crowd the streets for blocks in either direction of the hotel’s entrance and despite Yuuri’s steadfast belief that they have nothing to be ashamed for, there’s still quite a lot they’re afraid of, and massive mobs of people with cameras and microphones shouting in their face happens to be one of those things.

“We can still go out the back,” Viktor suggests mildly as he runs a hand up and down Yuuri’s bicep, arm curled around their back and drawing them into his side. “None of us will think less of you if you want to change your mind.”

Yuuri’s face pinches, caught between a rock and a hard place. They’d long ago ushered the other skaters away, only Viktor and Yuri standing at their sides like sentries as all three of them look down on the crowd from Yuuri’s hotel room window.

“I don’t want to run away,” Yuuri says, slowly. “But I really don’t want to go down into that mess, either.”

Yuri snorts. “You won’t be running away,” he says, and both Viktor and Yuuri turn curious looks in his direction. Yuri shrugs. “Otabek and I were talking earlier,” he says. “And he told me to tell you that taking a step back here wouldn’t be running away, but picking your battles. You’re not prepared to fight that army,” Yuri points down at the reporters, “so you shouldn’t. If we take a stand here we’ll be trampled.”

Yuuri’s mouth quirks up in the corners. “A tactical retreat?” Yuuri says, bemused.

Yuri shrugs, shoulders loose as he scuffs the carpet with his shoe. “I guess,” he says. “I mean, for me, I only ever talk to reporters on my terms. They’re the ones who want to talk to me, so I’m the one in control.”

Yuri looks up at Yuuri, head tilted ever so slightly. “You have the control here,” Yuri says. “If you don’t want to talk to those reporters,” he points at the mob again, “then you don’t have to. They’re all dying to ask you questions and hear what you have to say, Yura,” he smirks, one shoulder drawing up in a half-shrug, “may as well make them wait for it.”

Viktor hums, nodding along as Yuuri stifles a small giggle. “He’s right you know,” Viktor says as his eyes glance towards Yuuri. “You have the power over when you talk, who you talk to, and what you say. If you’d rather wait until you can talk to them privately and personally then do that. You don’t owe them anything.”

Yuuri hums, thinking this over. “I think,” they say, looking Yuri in the eye, “that I’d much rather let Yurio have the spotlight for a while.”

Yuri blinks in surprise before a self-satisfied smirk creeps onto his face. “You’re damn right,” Yuri says. “All this drama has totally distracted everyone from my debut.” Viktor and Yuuri share a smile as he cocks his hip to the side and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can’t just take that sitting down, now can I?”

 

* * *

**KamehameWHY**  
But… for real though… aren’t these things supposed to be crawling with reporters… why haven’t we heard anything yet?

**PoTayToe2**          
Typical. That tranny ass bitch is avoiding the reporters.

**BroTip**  
Dude, literally NO ONE wants to talk to a mob of idiots with microphones. Step off.

 

* * *

All three of them are ushered from their cab into the ice rink by harried looking rink workers who smile like their favorite part of the day is escorting minor celebrities past a swarming mob of cameras and microphones. Yuuri takes note of their names and jots them down into the crook of their arm so that they can send them something nice later as thanks.

Before Yuuri knows it they’re backstage in the locker rooms being buffeted this way and that by six figure skaters who can’t seem to keep track of their foundation pots or their glitter brushes and someone really must keep JJ from accidentally poking himself in the eye with his mascara wand. Yuuri is reminded of his days helping Minako’s Ballet 1 class get ready for their recitals only, surprisingly, there’s a lot more glitter passing hands in this locker room.

“Yura, did Viktor hand me platinum or diamond?” Yuri asks from where he sits, eye closed serenely in front of a mirror, “I can’t open my eyes until my liquid liner dries and I do not trust that old man’s aging eyes.”

“I’m not the one who needs corrective lenses!” Viktor defends, having been the butt end of one too many playful jabs at this point.

Yuri shrugs, and Yuuri leans forward to read the label on the lid sitting on the counter in front of Yuri. “Neither, actually,” Yuuri says. “He handed you sterling silver.”

“Point made,” Yuri says to Viktor’s general direction, waving his hand at the box of various glitters he’d opened in front of him. “Yura, could you hand me the pot of diamond, please?”

Yuuri snorts at Viktor’s pout and complies, making sure to double-check the label before handing it over. “How did you ever manage to do your own make-up if you can’t tell diamond from sterling silver?”

“He didn’t,” is the unanimous chorus from every skater in the room except Viktor and the two skaters who never actually shared a dressing room with him.

Viktor whines pitifully.

“Hey, Yuri,” Leo calls from across the room, adjusting the volume on the Bluetooth speaker that’s been providing the background tunes. Currently it’s bouncing with the beat of Beyoncé’s Grown Woman. “You got any cobalt in there?”

Yuri pauses for a moment before slowly opening his eyes and blinking a few times, checking to make sure that nothing smudged before leaning forward to sift through his box of glitter pots. “I’ve got a cerulean and a navy, but no cobalt.”

“Oh!” Chris shouts, holding up a pot of glitter. “I do!”

JJ sighs, head falling back. “Does anyone have lavender? I think I forgot it at home.” He groans. “ _Again_.”

“Dude,” Phichit says, handing over a pot of tiny shiny flecks of lavender mica dust. “How do you even function?”

“Isabella,” JJ says, hand over his heart as he looks to the heavens with a grave face. “She is my rock and my day timer. I would be nothing without her brilliance.”

Yuri blinks, eyebrows scrunching. “What the hell is a day timer?”

Viktor shifts from one foot to another, hand coming to his face as his eyes go far away in thought. “I had one,” he says, “it’s like a giant refillable planner the size of a harry potter novel. Nowadays you can just use your phone, though, so.” Viktor shrugs.

Yuri’s face is stricken, glancing at his iPhone out of the corner of his eye and thanking every deity he knows for Steve Jobs.

Christophe hums, dabbing rosy highlight on the apple of his cheekbones. “I know what you mean, though,” he says. “My darling is 80% of my short-term memory and 95% of my impulse control.”

“Impulse control?” Viktor teases, eyebrows tilted. “I wasn’t aware you had any to begin with.”

Christ blinks at himself in the mirror, evaluating the shimmer and adding a bit more to the left side. “Remind me again,” he says without looking away from the mirror, “who was it that bought a million-dollar Barbie pink convertible?”

Oh, yeah, Yuuri thinks, glitter and pouting children. Just like Minako’s Ballet 1 class.

 

* * *

[image]

**Haydone**  
Just saw @v-nikiforov and @yuri-plisetsky being RUSHED into the CCIB. These crowds are BANANAS

              **CanZada**  
              Holy shit is that Katsudon?! That coat is ADORABLE

              **Utopinope**  
              How can you even tell?? The pic is SUPER blurry!?!?!

              **CanZada**  
              Shipper goggles are 20/20 my friend

 

* * *

Yuuri’s looking for a vending machine, hoping to grab a bottle of ginger ale to settle their slightly queasy stomach and see if they can materialize a bottle of Perrier for Viktor, when they stumble upon what must be a handful of reporters talking to a few of the other coaches. Ciao Ciao is there, standing next to Chris’ coach and a woman that Yuuri doesn’t recognize but she must be a coach as well given her demeanor.

They’re not avoiding the reporters, per se, but they still don’t want to be bombarded by questions and bright lights the way that celebrities on television always are. They’re pretty sure they’d have a panic attack if that were to happen.

Before Yuuri can decide on a course of action, Ciao Ciao spots them and calls out.

Yuuri jolts ever so slightly in surprise, seeing the quirk of curiosity in everyone’s eyes as they step forward to accept Ciao Ciao’s typical handshake-hug. “How have you been, Yuuri?” Ciao Ciao asks.

“I’ve been well, thank you,” Yuuri responds automatically. “How is Clarissa?”

“Fine, fine,” Ciao Ciao says, “as spry as ever.” His face is fond as he speaks about his wife. “You should really come over for dinner so we can catch up. Will you be coming to the states anytime soon?”

One of the reporters leans in closer, bringing her microphone nearer to Yuuri’s mouth in an attempt to catch their answer. Yuuri blinks, bowing to the reporters and smiling as brightly as they can. “I’m sorry,” they say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your interviews.”

The reporter backs off ever so slightly, as if catching herself, before smiling wide. “It’s no problem,” she says. “Coach Celestino and I were almost done anyways, would you be willing to answer a few questions though, Mr. Katsuki?”

Yuuri jolts just a bit at the title, mouth pursing around the words as they say, “Just Yuuri is fine, please.”

The reporter nods, taking this as permission to launch into her first question. “The ISU released a statement naming you the substitute co-coach of Yuri Plisetsky, how has that been going?”

The question throws Yuuri ever so slightly, and they’re still hesitant to answer any questions at this time but this reporter has no cameras or bright lights and her face is open and honest. Yuuri feels encouraged, but not pressured, so they smile nervously and answer to the best of their ability. “Yuri is a wonderful skater, as I’m sure you’re aware,” this elicits a slight chuckle from the reporter and Yuuri feels a bit more confident as they continue. “All I’ve really done is help him expand his horizons and explore the movements and expression of his body.”

The reporter nods, eyes alert and interested as she shifts the microphone from one hand to another. “So then, do you assist Madame Baranovskaya in Plisetsky’s training?”

Yuuri blinks, head tilting slightly as they shift their weight, thinking over their answer. “No,” they say after a moment, grateful that this reporter doesn’t hurry their answers. “Madame Baranovskaya is a wonderful tutor and I would say that both Yurio and I have learned quite a lot from her but my instruction is not so technical. I am a dancer, not an instructor, so my way of mentoring is different from the Madame’s.”

“How so?” the reporter encourages, face open and smiling.

“Well,” Yuuri begins. “We spend quite a lot of time together, in the studio and out of it. The Madame, Coach Feltsman, and even Viktor know Yuri mostly in terms of his abilities, the strengths and weaknesses of his body. My,” Yuuri pauses for a moment, “job, you might say, is to know Yuri as a person. His favorite foods, his favorite movies, the songs he sings on repeat in the shower. All of these things are the things that I pay attention to so that I can help him understand what’s going on in his head. A performer’s greatest rival is their own thoughts, you know.”

The reporter’s smile is large, eyes glimmering as she nods. “That sounds wonderful,” she says. “Would you say that your coaching has helped Plisetsky become a better skater?”

Yuuri blinks, hands coming up immediately as they shake their head from side to side. “Oh, no, I would never. Anything Yuri achieves or has achieved is purely from his own effort. My role isn’t to give him the answer to the question but to guide him in the right direction.” Yuuri pauses, lip ducking into his mouth for a moment before he continues. “If I may be honest with you, I don’t even know all that much about figure skating. Yuri Plisetsky, in my eyes, has always been and will always be the very best. I’m just here to help him prove it.”

The reporter beams, eyes bright as she nods rapidly. “Thank you very much, Yuuri,” she says. “Though, if I may ask it must be very confusing having two Yuri’s around, how do you tell each other apart?”

Yuuri starts, not expecting such a question. “Oh,” Yuuri says, “quite simply, if I’m honest. Viktor, Yuri, and many of the skaters we’re friends with call me Yura, a Russian nickname given to me by Viktor and Yuri, and it’s a rather new development but my family have dubbed Yuri as Yurio, which is a Japanese twist on his name.”

The reporter nods, stars shining in her eyes as she thanks them. “Thank you very much, Yuuri,” she says, holding out a business card. “My name is Maria Friday – I apologize for not introducing myself earlier – but I’d love to talk with you later if you’d like. Perhaps I could speak with Viktor and Yuri as well if they’d be willing?”

Yuuri takes the card and smiles nervously. “Thank you,” they say. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Maria nods, pressing a few buttons on the box her microphone is connected to before waving as she walks away.

Ciao Ciao whistles behind Yuuri and they jump in surprise, turning to him with a startled look. Ciao Ciao’s smile is as warm and welcoming as ever and Yuuri feels themselves settle just a bit.

“You’ve really come into yourself, haven’t you, Yuuri,” Ciao Ciao says, voice as warm as his smile. “I’m glad.” Yuuri ducks into their shoulders just a bit, face flushing as Celestino continues in a gushing tone reminiscent of Yuuri’s father. “I’m so proud of you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looks up at Celestino and smiles despite themselves, face flushing with the prospect of tears. Celestino must notice because his eyes widen and his hands come up in the universal motion of someone who wants to help but doesn’t know how. “Oh, no,” he says, muttering a few words in Italian, “no, don’t cry! Phichit will never forgive me if you ruin your makeup because of me! Phichit did do your makeup, right? It looks very good on you.”

Yuuri nods, tipping their head back in an attempt to stall the moisture beading in the corners of their eyes. “He did,” they say in a choked voice. “Took him forever because I cried and he had to redo it.”

Celestino chuckled, “Just another reason not to make him re-do it again, yes?” he says, and it shocks a laugh out of Yuuri.

“Coach,” Yuuri says, looking down once they’re sure the threat of tears has gone away. “Thank you.”

Celestino blinks, eyes unsure. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you could be thanking me for, Yuuri,” he says. “But whatever it is, you’re more than welcome.”

Yuuri smiles, ducking their head into a small bow. “Thank you,” they say again and wave as they turn around and head back towards the locker room.

Turns out they didn’t need that ginger ale after all.

Of course, they do wish for a moment that the rink stocked alcohol when they walk into the locker room to see a full-on glitter war going down between the skaters. Yuuri feels really bad for whoever has to clean that up.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck this livestream! Claire I’m coming to your house; my computer is shit!”

“Okay, Mom ordered your half of the pizza with bacon and mushrooms.”

“Tell your mom I love her.”

“Tell her yourself, dumbass.”

 

* * *

During the practice session Yuri goes onto the ice with something to _prove_. He’s only got a few minutes of practice time and every single second of it has already been dedicated to a declaration of war on anyone who wants to look down on him because of his age or question his abilities because of their stupid ass assumptions regarding his coaches.

The only thing keeping his from jumping quads the whole time is the knowledge of Yuuri’s disappointed face whenever he overexerts himself. When he skates over to the boards to grab his skate guards and clear the ice for the first skater, the lines of Yuuri’s face are tight with nerves.

“You’ll have plenty of time to prove yourself, Yurio,” they say, “please don’t overwork yourself.”

Yuri twitches, lips rolling in as he nods. Really should’ve seen that one coming honestly, Yuri has never been able to hide anything from Yuuri. Especially not on the ice or in the studio.

Yuuri’s face smooths into a tentative smile, eyes confident despite the shake in their hands as they grab onto Yuri’s elbow, escorting him away. “Don’t beat yourself up over it Yurio,” they say, “Let’s keep you warmed up, though.”

Yuri nods and settles into his stretches. He’s the third skater to perform so he doesn’t really have that much time before he goes onto the ice but a few minutes make all the difference in these sorts of events.

“Where’d the Old Man go?” Yuri thinks to ask a few moments later, settled with his elbows crossed between his spread knees, chest flat to the floor. It’s a surprisingly comfortable position, actually.

“Viktor is still looking for a bottle of Perrier,” Yuuri says and yeah, that sounds like the kind of thing that would distract Viktor. Yuuri shifts and lets out a relieved breath as a pair of hurried footsteps come closer. “Seems he found one.”

Yuri snorts at Viktor’s enthusiastic recount of his Quest for Perrier before chugging the bottle down in one go. “It’s for luck,” he says to both Yuri’s horrified faces, “I always drank a bottle before I went on the ice.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one drinking it, then?” Yuri asks.

Viktor had apparently not thought of that, and turns to go find another bottle before being stopped by Yuuri’s hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough,” they say. “You being here is going to be much more beneficial to Yurio than a stomach full of fizzy water.”

Viktor seems to consider this for a moment before conceding with a surprisingly loud burp.

Yuri sighs.

Of course, everything goes to shit before Yuri even steps foot on the ice and disaster comes at the hands of a twenty-something woman with a handheld recording device and a cut-throat desire to make it big in journalism.

Reporters asking for final remarks before he hits the ice is nothing new. Yuri’s used to taking off his sweats mid-answer and Viktor himself once had to be forcibly pushed onto the ice by a fed-up Yakov. The reporters are usually very respectful, though, conscious of the fact that the skaters are already putting on their game face and can’t be too distracted.

It seems, though, that a few reporters didn’t really get that memo. He’s handing his jacket to Viktor and shifting his weight so he can bend down to take off his skate guards when a reporter shoves her recorder in his face, making him flinch and nearly lose his concentration. “Skater Plisetsky,” she says in a breathless, nasally voice, “Would you say that having a crossdressing tranny as a coach has helped or hurt your chance of winning gold?”

Silence descends on the small group of reporters as they all snap towards this woman, eyes absolutely horrified and mouths agape. If she notices their reactions, it doesn’t show on her eager face.

Yuri stands in frozen silence for what feels like an eternity, the frigid figures of Yuuri and Viktor flanking him on either side. The pure audacity of this woman is astounding, and it takes him a moment to think of a response that doesn’t involve violence as the primary means of communication.

He leans down, popping his skate guards off and shoving them into Viktor’s stunned hands. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, voice deceptively calm as he steps into her space.

The woman blinks, “I didn’t,” she says, stunned, before continuing, “but I’m Sara Phillips.”

Yuri nods, nose literal inches from this woman’s face. “Okay, Ms. Phillips,” he says, leaning back and taking the recorder from her, holding it up to his mouth.

“For the record,” he says, “Yura’s coaching has been invaluable in my journey here and there’s no way I would have gotten this far without them. And if you,” his glare sharpens to knife-points, laser focused on Sarah’s face, “or anyone else _ever dares_ to bad mouth them or anyone like them in my presence again, then you can consider yourself an enemy of Yuri Plisetsky, and I’m sure we’re all aware of what happens when you piss of a Fairy.”

He shoves the recorder into her hands again and turns his back on her like she’s nothing.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he calls over his shoulder, “I’ve got a goddamn gold medal to win.”

 

* * *

_ GPF LIVESTREAM CHAT (Location Code 31926) _

**Clarence Montgomery**  
Is it just me… or does Yuri Plisetsky look about ready to cut a bitch

**John McCarthy**  
Nah man I see it too and I am scared

**Hannah Starnes**  
Ah, to be young and angry

 

* * *

Yuri skates onto the ice with the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders. He’s angry. God _damn_ is he _pissed_.

Yuuri’s done a lot for him, probably more than either of them realizes, honestly, and Yuri can’t stand the thought that people can look at them and think that they’re anything less than a phenomenal dancer and a wonderful human being.

Yuuri is not unnatural.

Yuuri is not a _failure_.

Yuuri is not going to be the thing that “ruins his senior debut”.

There’s nothing political about this.

Nothing social or cultural or revolutionary.

It’s just Yuuri doing what they’re good at, helping Yuri do what he’s good at.

If Yuri’s practice time was him throwing down the gauntlet, then his short program is him stepping into the arena and standing in front of the lion, unafraid.

_Look at me_ , he thinks as the music _begins, look at the them that is within me. Don’t even_ dare _to take your eyes off of me. You want to know how I skate with Yuuri in my life then fine, I’ll show you. I’ll break your records and win your competitions and drown you in my Agape_.

Yuri feels like an avenging angel, feathers whipping through the air and brushing past the skin of his wrists as he spins and jumps and Yuri doesn’t quite know where he is in the routine – and maybe later he’ll have a talk with Viktor and Yuuri about that because he’s pretty sure that’s something they need to know – but right now none of that matters.

The anger slides off Yuri’s shoulders like melting ice until the only thoughts in Yuri’s head are of Yuuri – early morning pancakes and late night Katsudon, evenings spent in the dance studio laughing over cat videos, learning that neither of them were particularly good at braiding hair but both were willing to learn – and perhaps for just this once the thoughts of his grandfather take a back seat. But the thing that Yuri is learning about love, about Agape, is that to love one person is not to cease to love another.

Adding is just adding. Like having two coaches, or two fathers, or two sisters, or two dogs. Having more is just simply… more.

Yuri’s heart pounds as his hands lift into his final pose, chest heaving for breath and eyes prickling with tears as he tries not to collapse into the ice. With shaking legs, he bows at the crowd and then at the judges, snatching a few cute tiger plushies and a bouquet of bright tiger lilies off the ice as he skates over towards where Viktor and Yuuri wait for him.

He has no idea what just happened, but the smiles on both of their faces must mean that whatever it was it was good.

Yuri smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super confident about this chapter if I'm honest... trying to get the ball rolling without having to deal with too much press and too much anxiety was a struggle... hopefully I've moved us along without making it feel forced (fingers crossed).
> 
> Fun fact 1: Dunno if anyone else remembers day timers but my dad had one that was literally gigantic  
> Fun fact 2: I based the locker room/dressing room scene on my own experiences with doing my sister's stage makeup for her ballet performances. It's madness.   
> Fun fact 3: Grown Woman always goes through my head whenever I'm walking with boots on because I walk with a vengeance  
> Fun fact 4: Literally everybody wanted to exact bodily harm on PoTayToe and that makes me laugh so much because I based the name on one of my favorite gifs ever which I linked in the comments of last chapter so if you're curious as to what exactly it is you want to destroy then go for it. 
> 
> Just fyi, this chapter might have a lot of errors because 80% of the Microsoft Word spell-check squiggly lines were just telling me to use "concise language" like fuck off Microsoft Word, don't tell me how to write. So if you see any errors feel free to let me know and as always if you have questions, comments, or concerns just drop them down in the comment box!!! 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr (same username, zadabug98, I would link it but it's too much work) I mostly post random fandom shit and the occasional update on my progress with this story and snippets from other things so check that out if you're interested.
> 
> (I'm kinda curious but also terrified as to whether anyone will figure out which one of these crazy name drops is mine since I put my first AND last name in there)


	11. Now Presenting: Viktor Nikiforov, Actual Housecat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fam. It's been a little over a month since I last updated but I am NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY, okay. I had intended to update before now but Viktor decided to have an existential crisis that I had to somehow make intelligible and I really don't want to write the rest of the GPF. I might just skip to the end of it tbh because I mean, we know what happens. We know who wins. Let me know if you would have issues with this plan or have any suggestions about how to make it not so agonizing for me to write. 
> 
> Plus my exam week started yesterday so I've been trying to study and write research papers and pack up my shit to go home for the summer so... yeah, save me, please. 
> 
> No music for this chapter (sorry) but it's 80% floof so hopefully that'll make up for it. Enjoy!

Having to run the onsen in a time when their business was close to failing meant that Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki simply couldn’t take the time off to see Yuuri’s recitals. Mari would always record them, though, and when they could finally take a few hours after closing to get together, they’d sit down in the dining room and watch the recordings on the big screen.

Yuuri had never let on that their family’s unorthodox viewing methods ever bothered them, and they’d rather enthusiastically provide commentary to the performance whenever all four of them could find the free time to sit down and watch it, but Hiroko had always felt a bit guilty about the whole arrangement.

Now, though, sitting next to her husband as she watches tears spring into her baby’s eyes when the little blonde Yurio rushes into their arms, she feels the warmth of that embrace all the way in Hasetsu. That’s her baby right there, and oh how much they’ve accomplished.

“Did he do well?” she asks the triplets, crowded over a calculator as they run numbers and check between their notes to make sure they’re estimating properly.

“Well,” Lutz says as she stares at the calculator with disbelief. “If we’re right, he’s probably broken the world record.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hiroko says, leaning into Toshiya’s side. “That boy certainly deserves it for such a lovely performance.”

Toshiya nods and leans so that the two of them are balanced, both supporting a bit of the other’s weight. “It really was,” he says. “He reminds me so much of our Yuuri when they were younger.”

Hiroko smiles, taking just a few seconds to glance at the nostalgic expression on her husband’s face before she turns back to the screen, watching as Viktor, Yuuri, and Yurio all wait with bated breath for the score to be announced.

“We… we did alright, didn’t we.”

The not-quite-a-question is small and quiet and she really hopes only Toshiya was able to hear it, this little fragile thought that always seems to nag at her. Toshiya’s hand moves to take hers and he pulls it into his lap, fiddling idly with her fingers in the way that always soothed them both.

“Yes,” he says. “I think we really did.”

Hiroko hums, not taking her eyes off of her baby’s smile as the scores are announced and suddenly the name “Kiss and Cry” becomes an apt description, seeing as Yurio, Yuuri, and Viktor can’t seem to stop doing either, tears and little pecking kisses scattered across their faces and – Oh, my.

Yuuri had best be bringing that boy home sometime soon, Hiroko thinks with a wry smile and a giggle tickling the back of her throat. Viktor Nikiforov’s got the kind of face that needs a giant bowl of Katsudon and the shoulders of a man who really needs a few hours in the onsen. Not to mention the fact that it’s quite rude not to introduce your mother to her future son-in-law.

“Remind me to keep a few rooms on reserve for a bit,” she says to her husband and Toshiya simply smiles.

 

* * *

 

 **Thicc-Sickle**  
Well… I guess this will finally get those idiots bashing Yuuri and Yuri to shut up. World records don’t lie, my friends.

 **SSSAria**  
             Obviously the only way to beak Viktor Nikiforov’s records is to be TRAINED by Viktor Nikiforov. The trollop had nothing to do with it.

 **FREEDUMB**  
             Dude… Viktor isn’t really Yuri’s coach you know… that world record was all Yuri

 **SSSAria**  
             @FREEDUMB Then you’re basically saying that the trollop didn’t have anything to do with it?

 **FREEDUMB**  
             @SSSAria That is most certainly NOT what I’m saying. I’m saying that Viktor isn’t the only reason that Yuri beat the record. And since nobody’s released any official interviews or statements yet it’s literally all speculation at this point as to who exactly did what and when and where and why and

 **SSSAria**  
             @FREEDUMB So you’re basically saying that you’re just speculating and there’s no proof that this tranny was actually doing anything but hanging around on his knees.

 **FREEDUMB**  
             @SSSAria Dude. YOU’RE SPECULATING TOO and OH MY GOD THERE IS NO NEED FOR THAT KIND OF BULLSHIT

 **Thicc-Sickle**  
             I literally come back from the kitchen to see this shit on my thread? @SSSAria get your 19 th century mindset and 17th century insults off my post

 

* * *

 

The next twenty minutes or so pass by in a blur of sensations. Yuuri gets the vague sense of reporters trying to ask questions but their voices get drowned out by the rush of victory that hums through their blood.

Before Yuuri can really come back to themselves, all three of them are sitting up in the stands watching as Chris glides across the ice. Yuuri’s eyebrows scrunch together as they watch him and the overly thoughtful look on his face. Chris has always skated with nothing on his mind but the theme of his program, practically making love to the ice, and while he still manages to evoke that aura it seems less like a passion-driven coupling and more like the tender joining of a pair that knows their separation is not far off.

Yuuri turns to Viktor, the worry in their eyes melting into deep concern as they take in the almost wistful look on Viktor’s face. They blink, eyes flicking back to the ice for a moment as Chris flubs a jump, skates hissing against the ice, before settling back on Viktor once Chris settles into his final pose.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says amongst the applause. “Are you alright?”

Viktor doesn’t answer at first. He isn’t sure if he _is_ alright, or if there’s even anything wrong in the first place. Seeing Chris on the ice stirs some kind of longing within him, but it’s formless and indistinct – almost illogical.

He shouldn’t miss the ice when he’s on it every day coaching Yuri, choreographing programs, or just enjoying the glide of his blades and the wind in his hair. And yet something within him coils and writhes with desire. Desire for something that he sees in Chris’ performance that he never was able to see in his own, no matter how many points he scored. It’s the way that Chris makes love to the ice, speaks to it like it’s an old lover. Viktor’s relationship with the ice – up until recently – had only ever been one of convenience. Sure, he loved to be on the ice, loved to perform and to wow the audience, but perhaps that was what always held him back.

So focused on the arena, he lost sight of the playing field.

Viktor takes a breath, lets it out, and allows himself to smile as he watches Chris skate into his final position before turning to Yuuri. “No,” Viktor says, honestly. “I don’t think I am.”

Yuuri’s eye flare in worry, eyebrows pinching as they turn to face him. Whatever words are lining up in their throat to console him are lost to the heat of Viktor’s mouth when he places a soft kiss on their lips. He pulls back with a smile.

“But I think I’m going to be.”

Yuuri’s eyes flicker between Viktor’s, concerned and surprised and absolutely adorable. “Alright,” Yuuri says, tentative, “If you need to talk about it, you know I’d be happy to listen, right?”

Viktor nods, leaning over to tuck his head against Yuuri’s shoulder, butting his brow against the joint of Yuuri’s neck and chin. Yuuri chuckles, free hand reaching up to card though Viktor’s hair. “You are a wonder, Yuuri Katsuki,” Viktor hums into the soft skin of Yuuri’s collarbone and Yuuri simply chuckles.

“God you guys are gross,” Yuri groans from behind them, leaning forward ever so slightly to fold his arms over the back of Viktor’s chair.

Yuuri laughs and Viktor whines about disrespectful sons but Yuri ignores them in favor of catching Otabek’s eye as the older skater nears the barriers below. Yuri smiles, eyes sharp with challenge and encouragement as he flashes a thumbs up. “Davai!” he shouts, and Otabek returns the gesture with a determined nod before skating out into his starting pose.

The spectators settle as the music begins, Otabek skating into his short program with finesse.

“Otabek is a very strong skater, yes?” Yuuri asks and from anyone else Yuri might take offense at that question but Yuuri honestly doesn’t know. They’ve only been part of the figure skating world for less than a year and even then, their exposure was fairly limited.

“Oh, he’s strong alright,” Yuri answers, unashamed in his pride in his friend. “Otabek’s style of skating is different than what the skating world usually demands, but it’s no fluke that he’s made it this far.” Yuri cuts a glance at Yuuri before setting his eyes once more on Otabek’s figure. “I think you and he would get along well.”

Yuuri hums, nodding, and they all fall into comfortable silence as they watch Otabek skate.

 

* * *

 

Most of the journalists who were just there for a quick scoop and a headline article were quickly scared away by Yuri’s protective – but no less intimidating – glare. Only a few manage to stick around long enough to ask a few basic questions, but even those few were quick to get the hell out of dodge with 163 centimeters of teenaged anger baring down on them.

Yuuri and Viktor make it back to the hotel with “I’m very proud of him” and “Yuri is very confident about his free program and so are we” as their only recorded statements for the day but Yuri spared no expense in telling every reporter who dared to touch on the subject exactly how he felt about his chances at gold. “I’ve been training with the best in the world,” he’d said to one reporter. “No matter what anyone says _I’m_ the one who actually spent time training with them at the rink and in the studio. None of those hours were wasted, and I’m going to prove it.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri settles into their comfy hotel bed, glasses perched precariously on the upturn of their nose and book nestled into the folds of fabric over their lap. The bedside lamp casts a warm glow over the characters on the page, reflecting off of the ink as they turn the page.

A knock at the door breaks them from their concentration and they look up curiously, slipping out of the bed and stepping softly towards the door. All they can see through the peep-hole is a shock of silver.

“Yura,” Viktor whines, “let me in!”

Yuuri laughs and undoes the locks, opening the door so that the small chandeliers in the hallway can spill light over the threshold of their doorway and around the sleep-soft figure of one Viktor Nikiforov.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says with mild amusement. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

As if on cue, a yawn parts Viktor’s lips and ripples throughout his whole body. When it settles, he smiles blindingly and leans forward to drape himself over Yuuri’s frame. “I missed my Yura,” he says, “and my bed’s too cold. I want to sleep with you tonight.”

Yuuri giggles, moving so that they can close the door, turn the lock, and waddle along back towards the bed all with a very large Russian housecat thrown across their shoulders like a fur coat. “Come on,” Yuuri says, flopping onto the bed and on top of Viktor, “get in the bed you big doofus.”

Viktor squeals, shifting so that his head is pillowed against Yuuri’s thighs once Yuuri settles back against the headboard and picks their book back up. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I will,” Yuuri says, turning a page with one hand while the other buries itself in Viktor’s hair. “I just want to get through this section. Reading helps me focus my thoughts so it’s easier to turn off my brain.”

Viktor hums, content to let Yuuri’s beautiful fingers rub against the fine hairs behind his ears. Whenever the come too close to his jaw he’ll dart his head to the side and press kisses into the pads of them, making Yuuri giggle and boop his nose.

Viktor waits until Yuuri is finished with that section – for the distinct sound of the stock-paper binding hitting the side table – before he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Yuuri hums and there’s no need for Viktor to elaborate as both of Yuuri’s hands find a home in his hair. Yuuri is just there, waiting, encouraging but unhurried, and Viktor finds himself spilling all his thoughts across the duvet in rambling, incomprehensible pieces. They sparkle across the fine threads and mint green fabric like diamonds, growing ever sharper as Viktor finds the words he’d hidden under layers of self-doubt and false confidence.

“I miss the ice,” he says, and then, “but I miss the ice that I could have been skating on, not the ice that I _was_ skating on, does that make sense?”

Yuuri’s hands never falter in their soothing ministrations against Viktor’s scalp and he’s grateful for the grounding touch. Yuuri hums, inquisitive, thumb swirling in the downy hair around his temple. “I think I do,” they say. “You regret what you missed out on. The potential, not the reality?” Yuuri asks with the gentle patience of a parent coaxing the truth from a distraught child. It’s not a loaded question, tone free of all judgement and absolutely overflowing with the soft curiosity of someone who simply wants to understand.

“Yes, absolutely,” Viktor says with a sigh, relieved at being understood.

Yuuri accepts this with a hum, noticing the little crinkle of worry still lingering around VIktor’s brow. “A wise man once said if you always do what you’ve always done then you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten,” Yuuri says, patient and kind. “So, if what you’ve gotten so far hasn’t been what you’ve wanted, then there’s just no reason to keep doing it.”

Viktor sighs, melting into the softness of Yuuri’s touch and acceptance, crinkle smoothing out into flawless planes of skin. “Yuuri Katsuki you are a wonder,” he says. “How have I ever lived without you by my side?”

Yuuri giggles, voice soft and fingers teasing as they tickle along Viktor’s jaw. “I haven’t the faintest clue,” they say, and Viktor’s heart melts into a puddle of mush within his chest.

“Marry me,” he says, impulsive and sincere, “stay close to me and never ever leave.”

Yuuri’s fingers pause, shaking against his scalp and for a moment Viktor is terrified that he’s ruined it, that he’s spoiled it by being too quick to take the plunge. He looks up at Yuuri, apologies already perched on his tongue but they freeze there when Yuuri jolts with a hiccupping sob and a broken little “Vitya”.

Viktor’s heart stops and fast forwards at the same time, beating in such a rapid pace that it feels frozen as he gazes up at Yuuri’s beautiful awestruck face, tears pooling in the corners of their soft, chocolate eyes.

Viktor falls in love all over again.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says again, swooping down and peppering Viktor’s face with a multitude of little teary kisses, uncoordinated and sloppy and the best kisses Viktor’s ever had.

“Vitya, Vitya, Vitya,” Yuuri chants, voice watery and shaky and like music to Viktor’s ears as he pushes up into Yuuri’s mouth, eager for more.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, like a dying man’s prayer to a benevolent god, “Yuuri, Yuuri, please, Yuuri,” he gasps into Yuuri’s skin, “Yuuri, please say yes.”

Sobbing – broken open and made whole, impossibly beautiful – Yuuri laughs like Viktor has missed something obvious again, like the day he made coffee with matcha powder or when he forgot Yuri at the supermarket or any number of days and oh – Yuuri is pressing more kisses into his face and laughing again and what are bones because Viktor’s pretty sure he doesn’t have any, that they’ve melted in the heat of Yuuri’s mouth on his.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says into the skin of Viktor’s temple, impossible soft. “Vitya, yes, of _course_.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor gasps, voice positively smothered in surprise and delight and he tackles Yuuri onto the bed, kissing and nipping and absolutely nuzzling against any bit of Yuuri he can. “Oh, Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, my precious Yuuri, my Yura, my sun, my stars, my gold,” he trails off into endearments he didn’t even know he knew, smothering Yuuri in all the love he can while they lay beneath him and laugh like he is the sweetest thing they’ve ever seen.

“Yuuri, my Yuuri, my Yura, my one and my only,” he says, pulling up to cup Yuuri’s face and look them in the eye. “Oh, I love you more than the seas have depths. More than the sun loves the moon, more than there are stars in the sky,” Viktor ducks down for a kiss, eyes closed and mouth open, tender in all that it is so very, very warm.

When he pulls back, the look on Yuuri’s face is so very, very soft that he wants to kiss them again and again and never stop but before he can they open their mouth to speak and Viktor falls quiet like a prophet waiting to hear the words of god.

“I could spend a thousand years counting all the ways in which I love you,” Yuuri says, palms sliding from his hair to frame his jaw, “and even then, I would not able to name them all.”

Viktor closes his eyes, Yuuri’s gentle hands an anchor against his face, and surrenders.

 

* * *

 

It takes Yuuri a long while to truly fall asleep after that, lingering in that in between place where nothing matters but Viktor, and the fingers they thread against his scalp, their arm draped across his back. The night passes quietly and while Yuuri has no dreams to speak of, they are constantly aware of the warm weight pushing down on their chest, the fingers lingering against their skin and shifting every few seconds.

It’s luxurious in a way that Yuuri has never experienced before, wrapped in the kind of love and deep affection that they only ever found whenever they would sneak into their parents’ futon at night, lying between them while Hiroko and Toshiya stood silent guard against nightmares and shifting shadows.

It’s a feeling of safety and warmth and comfort that means for just a few hours, Yuuri feels no anxiety or doubt.

The world outside of that hotel room, beyond the warm confines of the soft duvet and the gentle cage of Viktor’s arms, seems irrelevant. Twitter rants and Tumblr pages and journalists typing out articles… all of it is secondary to the way that Viktor’s eyelashes tickle ever so slightly against the skin of their collarbone or how Viktor’s heartbeat thrums against them at every pulse point.

Yuuri wonders, not for the first time, if it is possible for one heart to beat for two people.

 

* * *

 

 **Nikiforov’s Next Move**  
_Posted 23 hours ago by Harley Quinn, Buzzfood Contributor_

By now everybody knows about the Katsudon Conspiracy where-in the SNS famous Katsudon Cutie is suspect – but not confirmed – to be Yuri Plisetsky’s new – temporary – coach, Yuuri Katsuki. Of course, as I said, nothing has been confirmed or reported as confirmed by Katsuki, Plisetsky, or Nikiforov and this individual feels that perhaps this is on purpose.

Think about it, literally no one would have cared about Plisetsky’s coaching switch if someone hadn’t pointed out that Katsudon and Katsuki look sort of similar to each other and Nikiforov’s reported switch to coaching was never blatantly finalized and was met with a shit ton of opposition from fellow skaters and those who follow figure skating.

It is my theory that this whole debacle was a ploy to draw attention away from Nikiforov’s actual ability as a coach and Plisetsky’s ability as a skater. Sure, Plisetsky won gold many times in the Junior’s circuit but Senior’s is a whole ‘nother ball field. Obviously no one’s given a statement because they want to draw out the diversion as long as possible.

Think about it, if Plisetsky does poorly in the GPF or Nikiforov suddenly has a mental breakdown because of the stress of coaching while he really wants to be on the ice, then they can just drop the bomb on the Katsudon Conspiracy and suddenly that’s all anyone can talk about and no one’s paying attention to the things that matter.

It’s like Donald Trump’s ridiculous tweets. Drawing our attention away from the real problem while they get away with doing whatever they want. Do we even know for sure that Plisetsky’s original coaches – Yakov Feltsman and Lilia Baranovskaya – were really stuck in St. Petersburg from a storm? How far does this conspiracy go? Is everything a rouse? Is there even a Katsudon Cutie? Is the Katsudon even homemade?

Trust nothing.

 

** Comments (78,983) **

 

* * *

 

Yuuri also wonders the next morning why they ever bothered to set an alarm.

“Yura,” Viktor whines into their shoulder, shimmying in a way that jolts the both of them. “Yura, I didn’t even get you a ring! You’re supposed to propose to someone with a ring and I didn’t and you said yes anyway, Yura! How could you say yes when I didn’t have a ring!?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri moans, throwing an arm over Viktor’s back in an attempt to still him. “Vitya calm down, it’s too early for all this energy.”

“But Yura!” Viktor draws away to pout, but Yuuri’s eyes remain stubbornly closed. “Yura I didn’t get you a _ring_!!! You deserve the best engagement ring in the history of engagement rings and I totally blew it!”

Yuuri groans, turning their head into the pillow under them, still creased from were Viktor’s head had settled. “Vitya,” Yuuri says, patient but very much done with the situation, “did you mean it when you proposed? Even without the ring?”

Viktor pauses for a moment before he settles back down against Yuuri’s chest, tucking his nose under Yuuri’s chin. “Of course, zvezda,” Viktor says, “I meant every word.”

Yuuri sighs, arms curling tight against Viktor’s back. “Then that is enough for me, boku no sora.”

Viktor snuffles against Yuuri’s neck, breath tickling against the thin skin of their throat. “What does that one mean, darling?” he asks, sleep chapped lips catching against Yuuri’s collarbone.

Yuuri smiles, drowsy with sleep and lax with the satisfying weight of Viktor against their side. “Hm,” they hum, fingers coming up to cradle the back of Viktor’s head, “not telling.”

Viktor whines for a moment, but a kiss against his temple is enough to placate him for the few minutes it takes for him to fall asleep, breaths even and head tilting against Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri smiles, chuckling as they ask themselves how a chunk of metal and stone could ever be more valuable than the silver of Viktor’s hair spread across the diamond sharp edge of his own jawline, corners soft with the comfort of sleep.

 

* * *

 

 **JacktheStripper**  
Dude, I’d never even thought of this…

 **BuyaGuyaGuava**  
Okay this sounds super legit but like… also really not. Idk man I don’t know what to think anymore.

 **ViktuuriInViktuuri**  
Okay so I see your point but also Viktor Nikiforov is too pure of a human being to ever come up with something so devious. There’s no way this is true.

              **JacktheStripper**  
              Idk man what if it’s a marketing ploy he had no control over?

              **VivaLaVegas**  
              SHIT

 **WeedJesus**  
Okay but what if Plisetsky doesn’t bomb the GPF and Nikiforov is ACTUALLY COACHING BECAUSE HE WANTS TO? Not EVERYTHING needs to be a conspiracy, you know.

              **WeedJesus**  
              Update: Plisetsky just beat the SP record, the kids a shoe-in for the gold.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri’s next wake-up call is much more pleasant than the first, Viktor’s mouth leaving small pecking kisses along the length of their neck rousing them from their soft dreams with the kind of ethereal softness that Yuuri has never felt before. It’s quiet, save for the small ‘mwah’ sounds Viktor murmurs across Yuuri’s skin with every brush of his lips, and Yuuri revels in every second of it.

“Я тебя обожаю,” Viktor murmurs into the dip below Yuuri’s jaw, words following a soft sigh, as though they simply couldn’t help but to slip from his mouth onto the unmarked plane of Yuuri’s skin. “Я тебя обожаю,” Viktor repeats with intent, as though to reaffirm them to himself, insist that they weren’t just a slip of the tongue.

Yuuri sighs, whisper soft, fingers fluttering against the bare skin of Viktor’s shoulder. “いつまでも 一緒 に いたい,” they whisper into Viktor’s hair, pressing a small kiss into the whorl at the top of his head. “いつも あなた を抱きしめ 眠りたい.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Exclusive Interview with Rebecca Anastasia!!! The Secrets of Yuuri Katsuki’s Career Unveiled!!!**

_Prima tells all about Katsuki’s scandalous affairs while in the Nashville Ballet: alleged sex changes and illegal secret rehearsals, more on page 31._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice I wrote the little Russian and Japanese blurbs at the end in Cryllic and kanji/kana instead of the romanized spellings as I have been doing up until this point. I did that because these are phrases that Viktor and Yuuri are saying but the other doesn't understand it. Viktor doesn't speak Japanese (though he's slowly picking up on Yuuri's endearments and minor phrases), and Yuuri's conversationalist Russian most likely doesn't include that particular sentence, so it's kind of like a "meaning beyond translation" sort of deal. I will include the romanized pronunciation & translation down there below the fun facts tho if you're curious.
> 
> Fun Facts:  
> 1\. My mom actually used to get the recordings of my band concerts from my teacher so that she could watch them with me and my sister whenever she had to be somewhere else (usually pertaining to my sister's ballet class)  
> 2\. Reading to turn off your brain is a thing that I do also. Literally read fanfiction until I can't keep my eyes open. It sucks when you stumble upon a 70k mega-fic, though. I have no restraint.  
> 3\. You may notice we're now getting into the actual trash media articles. Be prepared for crazy conspiracy theories and a lot of tabloid hoopla.
> 
> Translations:  
> boku no sora = my sky (in reference to Viktor's eyes and whatever else you wanna add to it)  
> tenshi-dono = Mister Angel (sort of formal-ish)  
> "Я тебя обожаю" = YA tebya obozhayu = I adore you  
> "いつまでも 一緒 に いたい" = itsumademo issho ni itai = I want to be with you forever  
> "いつも あなた を抱きしめ 眠りたい" = itsumo anata wo dakishime nemuritai = I always want to sleep with you in my arms
> 
> Let me know if you saw any spelling or grammar or translation errors! Questions, comments, concerns? Leave them all down below!! Thank you to everyone who has commented, kudosed, and bookmarked my story thus far!!! If I haven't responded to your comment then that literally means the only response I have is just unintelligible excited squealing. 
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr at zadabug98.tumblr.com and check out my other stories on Ao3 if you feel so inclined (they're mostly one shots tbh). Have a great day and good luck on your finals if they're looming in the distance!!!!


	12. Introducing: Disappointed Wing Men and That Chick Everyone Hates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sorry but there is - again - no music in this chapter either. I promise I'm working on it but it's really difficult to try and wrangle these guys into a dance studio in the middle of the GPF. Like for real. Where are they gonna go? How are they gonna convince the studio to let them use it? Who's gonna go with them? What are they gonna dance to? Is this friendship development? romantic development? individual development? It's complicated dude. I'm trying. 
> 
> Althooooough there is something else linked in this chapter which I think you'll enjoy so look forward to THAT. 
> 
> As always, enjoy!!!!

After the morning practices the next day, Yuuri and Yuri decide to spend a little extra time stretching in Yuuri’s hotel room. Yuri’s free skate isn’t until the next day, so they’ve got the evening off to do with as they please.

It devolves from serious stretches into attempting insane partner yoga poses about half an hour in, and that’s how Viktor finds them when he walks into the room with their lunch. Only a desperate need for food keeps him from dropping the brown paper bags when he sees the way they’re twisted around each other like pretzels. A hand lifts to wave at him, but he has no idea whose and that should concern him more than it does.

“I should be jealous,” he says, “of the fact that I just walked in on my fiance tangled up with another man. A younger man at that. But honestly I’m questioning if you two are even human right now, so I don’t know what to think.”

Yuuri blinks a few times and then giggles, which sets Yuri into a bought of giggles as well, and the two of them end up in hysterics. Viktor just watches fondly as they dissolve into a puddle of laughter and assorted limbs.

Yuuri is the first to sober up, and their face is glowing with a smile as they attempt to untangle themselves from a still hiccupping Yuri. “Well, I’m glad that my future husband isn’t the jealous type,” they say with a simper, smile still twitching with mirth and completely ruining the effect in all the best ways.

Viktor just laughs, setting the bags of food down on the table and helping them unhook their ankles and knees from Yuri’s bony limbs. “Well, I’m quite certain my future spouse is the faithful type, so that certainly helps.”

It’s Yuuri’s turn to chuckle, but they’re both interrupted when Yuri’s disheveled head of hair pops up suddenly, eyes narrowed. “Wait a second,” he says, suspicious. “You’re not just being stupid again, are you?” Though it’s a statement, not a question.

His eyes flicker between Yuuri and Viktor before seemingly coming to a conclusion and getting right up in Viktor’s face, messy hair and all.

“Did you fucking _propose to Yura_?”

Yuuri has the good grace to look a bit, but, as usual, Viktor can’t read a situation to save his life bashful as his face practically explodes into a beaming smile. “Of course!” he practically sings. “You didn’t think I would every risk leaving such an incredible human being on the marriage market, did you? I proposed last night, though it was an accident, really.”

Apparently, Viktor is _not_ saying the words Yuri wants to hear, so Yuuri snags a brush from their bedside table and starts to tackle the rat’s nest in the back of Yuri’s hair. Gently. It helps, but only so much.

“You’re telling me,” Yuri hisses though with noticeably less venom than usual, “that you _accidentally proposed_ to Yura!?”

Viktor nods, speechless with the dawning realization that maybe he should stop talking now. The realization is still dawning, though, so he says, “Yes?” like the idiot Yuri often – sometimes even rightfully – accuses him of being.

Yuri takes a deep breath and relaxes into Yuuri’s lap, letting them manipulate him this way and that to gather the rogue hairs at his temples so that they can start braiding it. “Please tell me,” he says, in the calmest voice Yuuri thinks they’ve ever heard him use, “that you at least got Yura a big, shiny ring.”

Viktor’s face is, apparently, answer enough.

 

* * *

 

Transcript of Blitzcarp interview with Rebecca Anastasia on the matter of Yuuri Katsuki (XX/XX/20XX)

**Interviewer:** Miss Anastasia, how did you know Yuuri Katsuki?

 **Rebecca Anastasia:** Well, now, sir, I was Prima Ballerina of the Nashville Ballet durin’ the season that Mr. Katsuki was signed with us. Only stayed for that season, though. I’ve never been one for male comp’ny, and ‘e was always a bit too fruity for any other kindsa pursuits, ya’know. But my good friend Karen had the same practice schedule, says ‘e was quiet as a mouse and twice as gentle, though we always got the impression he’d rather not be the one doing the lifting, if you know what I mean.

 **Interviewer:** Was Yuuri Katsuki a skilled danseur?

 **RA:** Oh, I ain’t got a thing bad to say ‘bout that boy’s dancin’. ‘Cept of course, well… I knew from the moment I met ‘im that there was somethin’… well, you know, all I’m sayin’ is ‘e could put a lisp in the word cracker. Oh but that’s not what you asked, is it darlin’? Oh, I do apologize. Could you repeat the question?

 **Interviewer:** Did you think Mr. Katsuki was a skilled danseur?

 **RA:** Oh, now that’s an easy one to answer, sugah. The boy was just about as good a ballerina as I was, you know, but o’course that wa’n’t his place. He’d be in the studio for hours working on his pointe work. Quite good at it, ya know, but ain’t no ballet comp’ny lookin’ to take in danseurs they can’t use.

 **Interviewer:** Could you elaborate on that?

 **RA:** Oh, sure, darlin’. I get so used to talkin’ to fellow dancers I forget. Male dansuers ain’t supposed to go up on pointe. S’too strenuous. They’re too heavy to support themselves. It just ain’t done, sugah. But that boy seemed like he’d been doin’ point work for longer than I had, and that just made it all the worse, ya see.

 **Interviewer:** Did Mr. Katsuki have many friends in the Nashville ballet?

 **RA:** Oh, a few here and there. He’s a real quiet type that one. Shy, you know. Not many of us got to know ‘im very well and then he was gone once the season was over. Not many of us liked ‘im though, I’ll tell you that. Lots of the other girls thought he’d be takin’ their solos and didn’t trust ‘im to hold ‘em up. “That boy’s built on an uncertain foundation,” they’d say, “ain’t no way he’d be able to hold me up. A stiff wind’ll come over and he’d be on his knees in a heartbeat.”

 **Interviewer:** You said before that Mr. Katsuki wasn’t your cup of tea, but were there any others who were interested in Mr. Katsuki? Romantically?

 **RA:** Oh, honey, half that comp’ny would’ve been on their knees in a heartbeat for that man, ballerinas and danseurs. He’d flirt with the whole lot of ‘em, and then drop them like hot rocks whenever his little slip of a lover would call. Another Asian man, I think. Can’t recall his name, though. Something really chewy, ya’know. Oh, but he wasn’t the only one, either. He got calls from this lovely lady back in Japan, too – something-ko, I think – prob’ly a sweetheart of his from back home. Poor darlin’ probably didn’t know a thing.

 **Interviewer:** I think that should be all. Thank you, Ms. Anastasia.

 **RA:** Ain’t nothing to it, darlin’. You asked, so I answered. Simple as that.

 

* * *

 

Phichit walks into the room right when Yuri decides to change gears mid-tirade, lurching forward with the force of the finger he shoves in Yuuri’s face as he practically shouts, “and you!”

Phichit has the wherewithal to hold very, very still as he closes the door slowly behind him.

“You are the best damn thing to happen to this man in his whole damn life,” Yuri says, and surprisingly his face doesn’t seem pinched at having admitted it. “He should be serving you hand and foot until the day you die, do you realize that?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Yuuri hedges, suddenly nervous at having such a high expectation draped across their shoulders like a wool shawl – warm and soft, but a little too itchy for their liking.

“Oh no he’s right, solnyshko,” Viktor supplies, unashamed. “I don’t know what my life was like without you in it.”

Yuri snorts, leaning back to cross his arms across his chest as he tilts his head to look down his nose. “Viktor Nikiforov was dead,” he says, and doesn’t pause to entertain the interesting expressions that cross Yuuri and Viktor’s faces, “been dead for a long time now.” Yuri looks to the side, stance softening as he sighs. He cuts a glance at Yuuri, flicking his eyes across Viktor’s face before making eye contact with them.

Yuri smiles, and it damn near breaks Yuuri’s heart.

“Viktor Nikiforov _was_ dead,” Yuri amends, with the sort of soft finality that Yuuri can’t quite place. “But,” and here Yuri seems to really hesitate for the first time, shoulders hunching in on themselves and neck tense, “but you brought him back, Yura. He owes you his _fucking life_ , the least he can do is get you a ring.”

Yuuri’s eyes dart towards Viktor, searching, but all they can see there is quiet contemplation slowly being overtaken by a soft understanding. Viktor turns those lovely blue eyes on them, and his smile is as soft and painful as Yuuri’s ever seen it. “He’s right, my darling,” he says. “I would be nowhere without you.”

Yuuri’s face breaks, and Phichit takes that as his cue to sidle up next to the little Yuri and announce his presence, though Viktor and Yuuri look far too engaged with one another to pay him much mind.

“What’s this I hear about rings?”

 

* * *

 

“Kelsey are you sure you want to use this?”

“What else are we supposed to do, Carl? No one with any real answers is stepping forward to talk yet – at least nothing that’s been published. We got creative, so what. It’s Schrödinger’s journalism. This chick might be giving us good stuff, or she might be talking out her ass, but we’ve got to get a headline for tomorrow’s issue either way and this way we know we’ve got _something_.”

“I dunno, Kels. This chick seemed a bit…. Well, you know.”

“Oh yeah, I know. _She_ came to _us_ , remember?”

 

* * *

 

It is no surprise to anyone when – after at least another half an hour of scolding – all four of them set out on a quest for engagement rings. Plural. Yuuri had insisted that if Viktor was being required to find an engagement ring for them, that they would go and find a ring for him as well. This statement had been followed by another ten minutes of terrible gross PDA but they were here now, split into pairs and ready to find those rings.

“So what kind of ring do you have in mind?” Yuri asks Yuuri, once they’re far enough away from the other two. “Gold? Silver?”

“Gold, definitely,” Yuuri answers, though their eyes are sparkling and far away as they gaze into the storefront windows. “Other than that, I’m not sure.”

Yuri hums. “You’ll know it when you see it,” he says, and then grabs Yuuri’s hand to pull them into the closest jewelry store. “Let’s just look around until you do.”

 

* * *

 

How To Buy An Engagement Ring – Men’s Health  
Dec 10, 2013 - Plan accordingly, because it typically takes between four to six weeks to work with a jeweler to finalize your  **engagement ring**. Infusing her style into the design of the  **ring**  can be as easy as taking a look in her jewelry box. “Take a look at what she's wearing... _read more_

A Guy's (Unbiased) Engagement Ring Buying Guide | Brilliant Earth  
Looking for an  **engagement ring**? Our unbiased step-by-step  **engagement ring**  guide simplifies the process to help you choose the perfect ring… _read more_

10 Things No One Tells You About Shopping For An Engagement Ring  
Dec 26, 2013 - Don't be afraid to tell the jeweler your limit and remain firm. If upping the carat means count means you skipping out on a few month's rent, then it's time you put the breaks on. Believe it or not, when you go to  **buy an engagement ring** , you are in the driver seat, and not the smiling person across the counter… _read more_

Buying the Perfect Engagement Ring | The Art of Manliness  
Jul 1, 2009 - We've put together the ultimate guide to help you  **purchase an engagement ring**  that your girlfriend will flip over. Let's get started... _read more_

 

* * *

 

 

“If it’s Yuuri, then you definitely have to get something in silver,” Phichit gushes as they both peer around corners searching for jewelery stores. “Though I’m not sure what stone would be best.”

“Something blue,” Viktor immediately responds. “A sapphire or an aquamarine, maybe a blue diamond.” Phichit coos and nods eagerly, tugging eagerly on Viktor’s sleeve as he spots a jewelry store.

It’s overwhelming, honestly, being surrounded by so much glitz and glamour. The sales associate is a peppy looking young woman who smiles when they enter. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

Phichit bounces towards the counter, eyes flitting this way and that to take in all the rings and necklaces and watches. “Hi,” he says with a chirp in his voice, “we’re looking for an engagement ring!”

The woman blinks, but her smile only grows softer as she nods. “Oh, wonderful,” she says, ducking down to pull out a drawer full of glittering diamond rings. “These are our best sellers at the moment, though if they aren’t what you’re looking for feel free to let me know –  we’ve got plenty more.”

Phichit turns back to glance at Viktor, but he’s already focusing on the rings. Too plain, too gaudy, too… _too_. He shakes his head. None of them are right. They’re lovely of course, bound to grace the finger of some other lovely person… but the only lovely fingers Viktor cares about gracing is Yuuri. And none of these are… _Yuuri_.

He says so, and Phichit hums with agreement.

The young lady, Margarette her nametag says, doesn’t seem upset. “Maybe you’re looking for something a bit more personal,” she suggests, putting that drawer away. “Maybe a ring with a birthstone?”

Viktor tilts his head in thought and nods hesitantly. “Perhaps,” he says, turning to Phichit. “November is a Topaz, yes?”

Phichit and Margarette both nod and she ducks down to pull out a drawer full of rings set with Topaz in a wide assortment of colors. “Oh,” Viktor says. “They’re blue!”

Margarette nods, smiling. “Oh, yes,” she says. “Not many people realize it, but Topaz is a very colorful gem. This one,” she pulls out a ring and hands it to Phichit, “even has more than one color.”

Phichit tilts the ring with wide eyes, watching the colors shift and change.

Viktor, however, still doesn’t feel particularly enthused by any of these. They’re nice, but they’re not _perfect_.

Margarette must notice, because she takes Viktor’s hand in hers and tilts her head at him sympathetically. “Perhaps if you told me a bit about your future fiancé, then I might be able to help a bit more.”

Viktor sighs, where to even begin.

He tries to capture the beauty of Yuuri’s being in words, stumbling and tripping and circling back. But it must come across – how much he adores his Yuuri – when Margarette releases his hand with a smile and steps into the back room with a command for them both to stay put.

When she comes back, she’s holding a new tray, littered with random odds and ends that look far older than any of the cutting edge designs featured in this store. “These are our estate sale pieces,” she says. “We always end up with the most interesting things, but the owner doesn’t like putting them in the cases because it doesn’t match the ‘ambiance’ of the store.” Margarette smiles with a cheeky wink as she says, “between you and me, I like these pieces the best.”

Viktor can see why. Every piece is different, unique, unlike the rings in the displays or the drawers who only differed ever so slightly from one to the other – a different carat, a different cut, one accent stone instead of two or three or none at all – and Viktor just can’t let beautiful, unique Yuuri have anything less than a beautiful, unique ring.

“Oh, they’re gorgeous,” Phichit coos, lifting up a gold banded ring with a large emerald set into the side with a swirl of gold holding it in place. “They’re all so charming.”

Margarette nods. “Most of them have stories, too,” She says. “Previous owners and people who wore them with pride. You can feel it, I think, when you compare them to these ones who’ve only ever been in the hands of a jeweler.”

Viktor can’t help but agree, really, leaning forward to pluck up [a ring that had caught his eye](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/7b/d1/4c/7bd14c24d2fa845414baa842b1c7a9a0.jpg) the second Margarette had set the tray down. Its band is silver, and the lovely diamond in the center is flanked by two triangular sapphires. The band itself is carved along the sides into twisting filigree and Viktor falls in love with the delicate, intricate simplicity of it. “This one,” he says. “This is the ring.”

“That’s a good choice,” she says, not once looking to see which one he’s talking about. She can tell just by looking at his face that it’s absolutely perfect. “Let me ring it up for you.”

 

* * *

 

How to Pick the Perfect Men's Engagement Ring - Engagement Rings  
You can  **buy engagement rings**  for  **men**  online and in local stores. If you're looking for a specific style, you may find a better selection online. Typically these… _read more_

How We Figured Out Engagement Rings For Men - A Practical Wedding  
There's definitely some ego involved in the  **buying**  of  **engagement rings**.) I'm proud that I can tell everyone I liked  **him**  so I put a ring on it (and, subsequently… _read more_

Leap Day: How do you buy an engagement ring for a man? - CNN.com  
Feb 29, 2016 - In the British Isles, it's traditional for women to propose to  **men**  on Leap Day… _read more_

 

* * *

 

 

Later that afternoon, with a ring box tucked into the nightstand and butterflies flickering in their stomach, Yuuri settles down to Skype call their parents. It had taken four jewelry stores and an antique shop or two before they’d been able to find the right ring and the whole experience had been equal parts exasperating and exhausting.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Yuuri asks Yuri, who had settled into the bed on Yuuri’s side half an hour ago and made no move to get up in the time it took Yuuri to settle in next to him. “I’m going to call my parents.”

Yuri hums, shifting to lean into Yuuri’s shoulder, and then deeper into Yuuri’s chest when they loop their arm around his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says. “Your parents are cool.”

Yuuri snorts and shrugs their unoccupied shoulder as the Skype call connects and the rest of the Katsuki family appears in the frame. Hiroko’s eyes shine as she smiles and Toshiya’s face is absolutely bursting with his own unique brand of quiet pride.

“Hey, squirt,” Mari chimes in from off screen before the frame shifts to reveal quite the crowd hanging around the dining room. “Heard your boy set a record.”

Yuuri beams. “Oh yes,” they say in Japanese, settling into their mother tongue like they would the warm waters of the onsen. “Yurio did very well. I would say I’m surprised that he broke the record, and I am, in a way, but not really. I mean I knew he could do it I just wasn’t expecting it… so soon? I don’t know how to explain it.” Yuuri huffs, brow twisting with exasperation. “Mostly I’m just proud.”

Yuuri’s hand drapes across Yuri’s head and their fingers begin to fiddle aimlessly with the soft strands of his hair. If Yuri minds it he’s doing an awful job of showing it, if the way he practically purrs is any indication.

“That’s wonderful,” Hiroko says, capturing Yuuri’s attention immediately. “How is that lovely Viktor of yours doing?”

Something in her voice makes Yuuri flush as though they’re thirteen again and just realized that kissing was a thing that was quite enjoyable. “Okaa-san,” they practically whine, tugging on Yuri’s hair just a little too much. Yuri grunts, swatting at Yuuri’s hip until they release his hair and resume the petting motion.

“Viktor is fine,” they are eventually able to murmur. “I actually wanted to tell you something… something kind of important.”

Hiroko smiles serenely as they lean over to retrieve the ring box and [open it to show the camera](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e9/26/f0/e926f06fbb22be6899e67f8227555ca5.jpg). Yuuko gasps, and the triplets break off to grab their phones as everyone falls silent. The ring is a gold band inlaid with four rows of gemstones – two a light pink garnet and two rows of diamonds – crafted into a beautiful zig-zag pattern.

They’d found it in the antique store, and had known immediately that it was perfect for Viktor.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Toshiya says. “It’s lovely.”

Suddenly shy as they pull the box back and close the lid, holding the white leather to their chest, Yuuri simply says, “Viktor proposed last night.”

“Oh my goodness!” Yuuko gasps, hands flying to her mouth as she turns to her husband with wide eyes. “Oh my goodness!” 

The triplets scatter and gather, flitting from here to there in barely contained glee, dealing with their joy in the way that only children can get away with: screaming.

Mari just laughs, loud and boisterous in a way that she so rarely is on the outside – but Yuuri knows her well enough to know that she’s usually always laughing at the world inside her head. She glances towards Minako and points a gleeful finger in her face. “You owe me ten thousand yen!” She crows, before collapsing back into hysterics.

Minako, for her part, seems proud if somewhat put-upon as she levels her gaze at Yuuri. “You couldn’t have waited two days?”

Yuuri watches the pandemonium ebb and flow, but their surprised to see that Hiroko and Toshiya look pleased, if not at all surprised.

“Oh, I knew the moment I saw you together on the stream,” Hiroko answers when Yuuri finally asks. “I thought to myself ‘Hiroko, that boy is going to be your Son in Law’ and I was right.”

Yuuri giggles, but Hiroko isn’t done. “Now is that your ring,” she asks, “or is it his?”

Yuuri glances down at the box with a smile. “It’s his, technically,” they say. “We didn’t have rings when he first proposed, so we got them today. Separately. I’ll give it to him next I see him.”

“Ah,” she says, “that sounds perfect.”

Yuuri just smiles at that, and though Yuri can’t understand a word that’s coming out of Yuuri’s mouth save for names and the occasional yes or no, he knows that look.

It’s a soft smile paired with even softer eyes, unfocused as though they’re looking off into the future – at Future Viktor and Future Yuuri and Future Whoever Else, all together and happy and wonderful. Yuri smiles and closes his eyes, letting the sound of Yuuri’s lovely Japanese wash over him once again.

 

* * *

 

 

Spinelli Kilcollin Introduces Gender-Neutral Engagement Rings to Its New Bridal Collection  
Apr 11, 2017 - And by that, we mean the perfect  **engagement ring**. ... From engagement rings to custom **gender** - **neutral**  wedding bands, this is the modern ... Yves Spinelli's wedding, and couples can  **purchase** similar or matching styles while... _read more_

21 Wedding Ring Alternatives Every Couple Should Get - BuzzFeed  
Jul 3, 2015 - But a traditional  **diamond ring**  may not be the right fit for some couples, ... a bit more understated and  **gender neutral** , like these matching silver bands. .... Plan for each partner to  **buy** something personal and unique to your... _read more_

12 Simple Band Engagement Rings For People Who Hate Bling  
Dec 12, 2014 - If you're obsessed with engagement rings but you don't like stones, here are 12 simple ... if you're all the way married or just engaged, it's  **gender neutral**. ... This is a great way to wear a simple  **engagement ring**  but still keep it... _read more_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, cool, you actually read this chapter. Sweet. I'm honestly not 100% pumped for this chapter because it's a little filler-y but we needed to advance in the story and I figured this was a good way to burn through that awkward day in between the SP and the FS - which actually exists btw. wild. Also, let's just pretend that the rings fit without needing to be sized. Because this is fiction. And I can do that if I want to. 
> 
> FUN FACTS:  
> 1\. All of the links in this chapter are actual google results when I searched for "how to buy an engagement ring", "how to buy an engagement ring for a man", and "how to buy an engagement ring for gender neutral"/"gender neutral engagement ring" respectively. I just thought it would be cool to include everyone in the search results as best that I could.  
> 2\. Honestly it was so weird to me that all of the "Man buying woman a ring" articles had to like... idk emphasize manliness in some way? As though showing your life-long commitment to a woman of your choosing was somehow not manly?? Idk man. Doesn't make sense to me.  
> 3\. Most of this was written in one sitting when I was kinda tired and said to myself "write now, edit later". Let me tell you I have never seen a weirder misspelling of pandemonium in my life. there were like three a's. what even.  
> 4\. I LOVE estate sale jewelry. You find the COOLEST stuff.
> 
> As always thank you so much for your lovely support. Your kudos and comments and bookmarks mean so much to me. I try to reply to as many comments as I can but sometimes the only response I have is just unintelligible screaming so... if I haven't replied to your comment, that's why. 
> 
> Oh! And a special thanks to (I hope I spell this right) xXYour_DoomXx, who low key inspired this little drama arc. When I thought up Rebecca Anastasia's character, their comment on the "Yuuri meets Dream Viktor" chapter came to mind because everything Yuuri told Dream Viktor NEEDS to be discussed with Actual Viktor. And now, it will be. Thanks fam!


	13. Song Bird, White Cat, and Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! It's been a while, my friends! Sorry about that. I thought I'd have a lot of time to write over summer break but I got a job instead, so.... yeah. 3/4 of this chapter just kinda sat around on my word doc for all of summer because I had NO time to work on it and I really, really didn't WANT to write these scenes for... a few reasons. Still not 100% satisfied with it either but it's what I've got so it's going up. I'm hoping to get back on the one chapter a month schedule but we'll have to see what happens with my course load and my work schedule this semester. 
> 
> But I've got some treats for you this chapter that I'm hoping will make up for it a little bit. We've got some music and a few dances that you just HAVE to see to be able to like get the full visual because they're great. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

Viktor comes to their room later that night, after Yuri has gone off to bed and Yuuri is boring themselves to sleep with the nearly uninterpretable prattle of a Spanish soap opera. The woman in a red dress has just revealed she’s either dying or pregnant, if the dramatic expression of her friend in the green dress is anything to go by.

Although she could be having an affair with the woman in the yellow dress, but both of them are wearing wedding rings and sleeping with other men who are also wearing wedding rings.

Perhaps their relationship is polyamorous? 

Either way, Viktor’s interruption is a pleasant reprieve from the mind-melting drama, regardless of how lovely the Spanish language sounds when one is being lulled to sleep by it.

“I can come back tomorrow morning,” Viktor says with a soft smirk. “If you’d rather have Enrique speak you to sleep instead.”

“Sorry Viktor,” Yuuri says, sheepish – perhaps they’re more tired than they’d originally thought, if they’re already saying their thoughts out loud. “Come on in.”

Viktor slinks inside, jumping slightly when the woman in the yellow dress pulls out a gun and turns it on the man Viktor had named Enrique. But whether he’s her wife’s lover or her cheating husband, Yuuri still can’t really tell. Viktor seems amused though as he settles himself against the headboard and adjusts his body in a clear invitation for Yuuri to join him.

“Oh,” he says, surprised, when Yuuri turns the television off. “You’re gonna miss all the good parts.”

Yuuri just sighs, walking back across the room to settle in at Viktor’s side, nestled into the pillows and far happier to bask in the soft whoosh of Viktor’s heartbeat. “I wasn’t really paying attention to begin with,” they admit.

Viktor just smiles.

“I got you something,” he says a few minutes later, Yuuri’s head in his lap and their hair weaving between his fingers. “But you have to close your eyes.”

Yuuri giggles. “I got you something too,” they say, “how about we switch at the same time?”

Viktor smiles, pulling a black leather box out of his pocket as Yuuri stretches to pull the blue velvet box from the nightstand drawer.

In unison, the flick the lids open but neither of them are really looking at the rings quite yet, too caught up in gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Viktor says.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri replies.

“Will you marry me?”

Yuuri and Viktor blink at each other before giggling.

“No fair, zolotse,” Viktor says. “I wanted to ask you first!”

Yuuri smiles, leaning forward to slip the ring onto Viktor’s finger while he’s busy pouting. “You already got to ask first, silly goose,” they say. “And this time we said it at the same time, so we tied.”

Viktor seems to think this over as he slips Yuuri’s ring onto their finger. “Hm,” he says. “Does that mean we each get a gold medal? Or do we each get a silver medal?”

Yuuri smiles, eyes soft and sappy as they cradle Viktor’s face in their palms. “Vitya,” they say, “I get the feeling that’s not the question you should be asking right now.”

Viktor tilts his head adorably, eyes wide in innocent curiosity. “No?” he asks, and as his eyes flick between both of Yuuri’s his smile begins to smolder as his lashes drop into a flutter. “Then what, pray tell, is the question I should be asking?”

Yuuri simpers, looking up through lusciously long lashes with a smile. “Well now,” they say, “I could just tell you. But where would the fun be in that?”

Viktor pouts and Yuuri’s eyes linger over the shape of it. Viktor chuckles. “Yuuri,” he says, “love of my life, moon of my night,” and here he nearly gives Yuuri a heart attack by suddenly twisting them both into a low dip, “would you do me the honor of a kiss?”

Yuuri gasps slightly, heart racing for more than one reason as they blink up at Viktor. “Just one?” they rasp without thought, unable to hide a slight whine of disappointment.

Viktor’s smile turns positively lascivious. “Why my dear,” he says. “I could never be satisfied with just one of your kisses.”

Yuuri – in an unexpected strike of lucidity that they will later believe to be the calm before the storm – thanks every named deity known to man that they’d already set their alarms for the next morning as they lift their arms to loop around Viktor’s neck.

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a handful of days and a few feet of snow before the seemingly infallible infrastructure of the Russian power grid finally collapses, plunging portions of Saint Petersburg and the surrounding cities into frigid darkness.

The people of Saint Petersburg aren’t really that upset over it, Lilia herself has been through plenty of dark winters, and when the lights cut out in the middle of a Grande jete she simply blinks and heads for the kitchen, pulling out a handful of candles in all sizes and lighting them with the box of matches from a nearby drawer.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t go home,” she says to Yakov as he comes down the stairs still dressed in his ridiculous flannel pajamas. “Your apartment doesn’t have a wood-stove, does it?”

Yakov grunts in the way of his that means she’s offended him by pointing out the practical failings of his living space, as though she were pointing out his own short comings. Lilia rolls her eyes. Men.

“How long do you suppose the power will be out for?” she asks instead of commenting as Yakov grabs another handful of candles and helps her chase away the early morning shadows left behind by the failed lights.

“Not too long,” Yakov replies, lighting another match to throw into the fireplace in the dining room. There are a handful of fireplaces – most decorative, some not – on either floor of Lilia’s home, but there’s no point in lighting more fires than they’ll need.

“Were you practicing?”

Lilia blinks, surprised at the civil attempt at conversation. “Yes,” she says. “Yuuri choreographed a piece for me a while back and since my classes were cancelled for the week anyway due to the Grand Prix, I figured I might as well familiarize myself with the work.”

Yakov hums and nods, reaching into the cabinet to pull out a kettle. He fills it with water and hangs it on the little hook above the fire, bringing the tea set over to the dining room table where Lilia had settled a few moments before.

“I see,” he says, eyes reflecting the flicker of flame as it dances beneath the silver gleam of the kettle. It seems odd from him, delayed and redundant in the ways that always used to annoy him had it come from anyone else.

Lilia frowns, mouth pinching into the same frown she’s been giving Yakov since they were teenagers. “Yakov,” she says. “What is the matter?”

Yakov sighs, eyes closing forcefully as though this is something that cannot be easily explained. For a man who has always been incredibly blunt with his thoughts, this is unusual. Lilia’s frown deepens.

“Yura,” he says, “is a genius.”

Lilia nods, but her eyebrow lifts in question. This, she already knew.

“Yes,” she says, slow and suspicious. “My Yura is very good at what they do. Why does this concern you?”

Yakov blinks his eyes open and visibly backtracks, hands lifting ever so slightly in a gesture of mild alarm. Lilia’s concern sky-rockets.

“No, no,” he says. “Not Yuuri. Yuri. Plisetsky. My Yuri.”

Lilia’s frown twitches in amusement as she huffs a small laugh under her breath. “Yes,” she says, “him too.”

Yakov’s face twitches into a small smile, shoulders relaxing as his gaze falls to the table. “I am worried,” he says. “When Vitya made his first world record, he became… what is the word… dependent?”

“Despondent?”

“Da,” Yakov says, though he does not seem enthused. “You would not know it by looking at him, but he was afraid of not being enough the next time. It was difficult.”

“Ah,” Lilia says, memories bubbling to the forefront of her mind. “I believe I remember this. You…” her face quirks in amusement, “you got him a dog.”

As if summoned, Makkachin trots into the room and settles towards the fire, basking in the warmth. Lilia smiles.

Yakov sighs, defeated. “Da,” he says. “It was the only thing to take his mind away from all the pressure he was putting on himself. Makkachin expecting nothing from Viktor but comfort and care. It was good for him. Vitya was always worried about the crowd, you see, whether he’d surprised them or not. Whether what he was was enough for them. With Yuri, it is always about beating himself, the goals he sets for himself regardless of what anyone else has to say on the matter.”

Lilia nods, she had seen as much. “You are worried that… what? Young Yuri will not be able to cope with so much external pressure?”

Yakov shakes his head. “Quite the opposite,” he says. “I am worried that Yuri will set his goals far too high now.”

And ah, yes, that makes sense. Lilia can see it now, playing through her head like a horror film. Yuri will return one medal heavier and one record lighter, buoyed by his success and imbued with the drive to conquer more records, to set the score higher and higher and higher until he stretches himself just a bit too thin and he snaps like a rubber band. She had seen it happen to young ballerinas every season, the ambition of the mind too great for the limits of the body.

Not to mention the fact that the young boy will soon be becoming a young man, and all the changes that would accompany such a transformation.

Lilia sighs. “The fact that you know this says a lot about your abilities as a coach,” she says to him kindly. “Knowing that there is a problem is the first step to fixing it. Have you thought to discuss your concern with him?”

Yakov shakes his head. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Lilia can’t help but giggle, a sound she’s sure she hasn’t made in years. “Oh, surely he would if you actually spoke to him, rather than shouting your head off. When you push him he pushes back tenfold, surely you’ve noticed.”

Yakov’s face pinches at the accusation, but he really can’t say much to defend himself against the truth. Instead he retrieves the kettle of boiling water and pours them both a cup of hot tea.

“You know,” Lilia says. “I’m quite glad that my Yuuri is in Barcelona with your skaters right now.”

“Their advice is invaluable,” Yakov responds with a curious tilt to his brow. “You know this.”

Lilia smiles into her tea cup, thinking of all the times in the past few months when Yuuri would take one look at her starting position and immediately ask if she was okay. “It is not so much what they say that is of value,” Lilia says to him, purposefully cryptic. “Rather, it is what they see.”

Lillia looks down at her hands and her long, slim, empty fingers. The weight of the band on her hand had meant very little for a very long time, but that does not mean she cannot miss it. Her eyes drop to the countertop, heavy with the memory of so many years of sweet heartache. Even now she doesn’t think she’s made the wrong choice but… there are days, moments – whole weeks, even – when she misses the promise of a warm body in the bed next to her – even if Yakov’s toes were always cold in the mornings, regardless of how long he’d been under the covers.

She takes a deep breath and smiles as the scent of jasmine and orange blossoms tickle across her nose.

Of course he still remembers her favorite tea.

Makkachin woofs softly, drawing Lilia’s eyes down to where the dog has sprawled across the warm marble floor, kicking lightly in its sleep. “Yuuri is wise beyond their years,” Lilia says into the silence that had fallen between them. “Perhaps they will be able to see what needs seen, and say what needs said.”

“And Vitya will always be a child no matter how old he grows,” Yakov counters, though he sounds fondly exasperated in the way he always gets when speaking of Viktor. “He sees only what he wants to see, and says only what he wants to say.”

Lilia snorts. “What a pair they make,” she says, eyes heavy as they lock with Yakov’s, and she cannot help but think of the divorce papers lingering in her office, all filled out save for two signature lines. The same place it’s been for the past five years.

What a pair, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuuri falls asleep and wakes up with a silver ring around their finger and silver hair in their mouth, they can think of nothing more important than turning on their phone and documenting the moment. Just a single photograph. Viktor’s eyes are always so soft in the moments before he wakes, cheek smushed into Yuuri’s chest and lips barely parted.

But when Yuuri opens their phone, they’re immediately bombarded by notification after notification from twitter and tumblr and gmail and facebook and Instagram and they scroll past icon after icon without really reading the words and – and – and –

– and it would have been so easy for Yuuri to have turned off mentions as well as notifications, but nobody ever tags them in anything except for Phichit and Yuuri knows if they don’t keep an eye on him he’ll start posting horrid, horrid candids of Yuuri sleeping or practicing or… _drunk_ from their time in Detroit and – and – and –

– and when Yuuri’s eyes finally focus enough on the screen to make out broken phrases and random hashtags their brain short circuits and their heart nearly stops and –

– and when Yuuri sees the name Rebecca Anastasia in big, bold, letters listed one after the other in article after article after blog post after blog post they just… can’t.

Thoughts whirl through their head at breakneck speed and their breath picks up to match it. Yuuri is hyperventilating, bouncing Viktor’s head against their sternum with every inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale-gasp and – and – and – and –

And Viktor stirs, blinking his eyes open to look up into Yuuri’s far away eyes, frozen and broken open like the soap bubbles he used to blow on the Russian winter days of his childhood. “Yuuri?” he says, but there is no reply.

Viktor sits up quickly and moves aside, eyes flitting across Yuuri’s figure to see what could be triggering the panic attack though he knows that – more than likely – it’s something mental.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says in his most soothing tone. “Yuuri, can you hear me?”

Yuuri’s head jerks in a nod and Viktor begins breathing very slowly. “That’s good Yuuri, can you hear the sound of my breathing? Do you think you could breathe with me? I need you to breathe with me darling, can you do that?”

Yuuri nods again, eyes still laser-focused onto the words pinging across their phone. It’s so much, it’s _too much_ , so many notifications and so many mentions and so many and – and – and – but the gentle cadence of Viktor’s breath is like white noise, drowning out the subtle chime of Yuuri’s phone. “Vitya,” they try to say, stuttering across the words and the vowels and – and the consonants. “Vitya.”

“I’m here, darling,” Viktor reassures, hands twitching with the desperate need to console. “Love, may I touch you?”

Yuuri nods and Viktor reaches forward to pull Yuuri into his lap, leaning against the headboard and rocking slowly from side to side. The phone, previously held tightly in Yuuri’s hand, falls aside as they latch onto the fabric of Viktor’s sleep shirt instead.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, trembling and breaking apart inside. “Vitya I need to, I – I should’ve, I, I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

Viktor shushes them, lips against their forehead as he hums into their hair. “Hush now, zolotse,” he croons. “There will be time for words later. For now, just breathe.”

Yuuri’s lungs hiccup with the force of the sobs that bubble from their throat, mouth pushed against Viktor’s shoulder to muffle the sounds. “I’m sorry, Vitya, I’m sorry, so sorry,” they mumble against his skin, barely coherent.

Viktor can say nothing without perhaps making it worse, so instead he draws the duvet around them like a cocoon and tightens his arms across Yuuri’s back.

Viktor’s mother always used to sing to him when he was young and too small not to be afraid of the bigness of the world. Many of them were in Russian, but the hauntingly beautiful Russian lullabies don’t seem like what Yuuri needs. Instead, Viktor tucks his face into Yuuri’s flush-warm skin and begins to sing one of his [mother’s favorite English lullabies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNCUuz4P3q8&t=47s) – one that had lulled him to sleep on many a stormy evening.

Yuuri shuffles and sniffles and Viktor shushes him gently, pressing one of Yuuri’s hands flat against his own chest and exaggerating the lift and fall of his chest with every breath. Yuuri’s fingers tremble, but they press insistently at Viktor’s chest all the same.

Yuuri sighs against his shoulder and Viktor notes with satisfaction that their pulse is slowing and their breathing is far calmer than it was before. “Darling,” he says softly. “Darling are you feeling better now?”

Yuuri nods, lethargic, and Viktor turns just enough to see that they’ve time to catch a few more hours of sleep before they need to be up and getting ready for the day’s events. “Darling why don’t you try to go to sleep again? You must be very tired.” Yuuri begins to shuffle around but Viktor holds them tight. “No darling, don’t worry about anything. We’ve time for a nap and I’m more than happy to keep you right here. You’re very warm, my love.”

Yuuri snorts but settles back against Viktor’s chest, limp with exhaustion save for the tight grip of the hand buried in Viktor’s shirt. “Sing,” Yuuri murmurs, whisper soft. “Wan’ hear y’sing ‘gain.”

Viktor chuckles, nodding. “Of course, my darling. Any requests?”

Yuuri snuffles but otherwise does not respond and Viktor takes a moment to decide before settling in and beginning a [new song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3oc1XuqzyGs).

_Black is the color of my true love’s hair_

_Their face so soft and wondrous fair_

_The purest eyes and the gentlest hands_

_I love the ground whereon they stand_

Viktor sighs, fingers reaching up to sift through the soft strands of Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri sighs in turn, settling deeper into Viktor’s arms.

_I love the ground where on they stand_

Yuuri sleeps peacefully, and Viktor’s eyes land on the still bright screen of Yuuri’s discarded phone. Viktor hums, once, before kicking it just enough to put it face-down on the sheets and settles in to lay for a while with the love of his life cradled in his arms.

_Black is the color…_

_Of my true love’s hair…_

 

* * *

 

It takes a few minutes for Yuuri to realize that they’re dreaming.

“Phichit,” they say to their friend onstage. “Since when could you dance en pointe?”

Phichit, twittering across the stage in an extended version of the [Songbird Fairy from Sleeping Beauty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvI0uX5I3VE), just laughs. “Yuuri,” he says, hands twittering along to the music. “You’re sitting in an empty theater watching your best friend dance around in a tutu and a sparkly tiara and _that’s_ the issue you have with this scenario? You and I both know that even _I_ can’t pull off this much yellow. It’s _killing_ me.” 

Yuuri laughs at that and claps when the music comes to a close.

Phichit sighs and jumps down off the stage, outfit shifting into the Indian Suitor’s costume. He blinks once at his new balloon pants before pursing his lips and cocking a hip. “Now that’s just low key racist,” he chides, blowing the dipping feather out of his face with an indignant huff of breath as Yuuri bursts into peals of laughter.

Phichit scoffs, twirling in place until his outfit changes once again into his short program costume. “Uninspired, Yuuri,” he says as he sits down next to them. “But points for fabulousness.”

Yuuri chuckles but whatever else they have to say is cut off by the theatre lights dimming down and the spotlight flicking on.

It’s Yuri.

As the [White Cat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omIZgkAPsPU).

Yuuri is laughing before the music can even begin and the house lights immediately go on again as Phichit pounds the back of the seat in front of him with how hard he’s laughing.

“Oh my god, stop!” Yuri screams, face as rosy as the sash across his shoulder. “Yura get me out of this stupid thing!”

Yuuri laughs and shrugs, clapping their hands a few times as Yuri hops off the stage and immediately changes into his free skate outfit. Yuri shrugs and collapses into the seat on Yuuri’s other side, lounging against the upholstery like it’s a throne.

“So,” he says, nonchalant. “Is there any reason why you needed to laugh at your friends in your dream?”

Yuuri blinks, tears of laughter still clinging to their eyelashes. They frown.

“It’s…. it’s Rebecca,” they say.

“Ah,” Phichit says as though he didn’t already know that – figment of Yuuri’s imagination and whatnot. “Well that bitch was always a few eggs short of a fruitcake if you ask me, and I think that’s exactly what I told you the last time she reared her bleach blonde head.”

Yuri scoffs. “God, I hate people like her. I’ve always heard good things about the Nashville Ballet, though it seems like I was just talking to the wrong people.”

Yuuri can take a hint when it’s right in front of them, and they duck their head at the implication. “I’m sorry,” they say. “I just… thought I’d put it all behind me. It’s not like I was… keeping it from you, I just. It’s the past and… I wanted it to stay that way.”

Yuri hums. “Well,” he says. “What are you going to do now that it’s all coming out anyway?”

Yuuri swallows, thickly. “This is a dream,” they say, and neither Phichit nor Yuri corrects them. “You’re in my head, figments of my imagination, but if I told you all the things that happened, would you still look at me the same way?”

Yuri scowls. “God, Yura,” he practically shouts. “What kind of shit are you talking about? What the hell do you mean ‘still look at you the same way’? All that shit that happened to you, _none of it_ was your fault! And I know you know that, because _I’m_ here telling you that! I’m a figment of your imagination here to tell you what you already freaking know!”

Yuuri blinks, surprised. They turn to Phichit, overwhelmed in the face of his gentle smile. “Yuuri,” he says. “You _know_ that we all love you. _Nothing_ you could ever tell us would make us love you any less.” Phichit leans forward, drawing Yuuri into a hug. “Especially not something like this, I mean, come on. If anyone should feel bad here it’s the people that did and said those terrible, terrible things to you. Okay?”

A warmth at Yuuri’s back completes the Yuuri sandwich as Yuri comes forward to join the hug.

Yuuri smiles, tears in their eyes, and nods.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Viktor looks out their window at the crowd of reporters and then looks back to where Yuuri still lies, snuggled into a cocoon on the bed with Viktor’s pillow held tight against their chest. Their breathing is steady but still ragged and Viktor mourns.

He was never the type to wish for more than what he had before Yuuri came along. Before Yuuri he was beautiful and talented if adrift for a spell. But now he would willingly trade every ounce of power within him, every gift he was ever graced, his looks, his height, his talent on the ice, everything. He would give it all just for the power to protect the one person who means more than anything.

Yuuri shuffles on the bed, stretching and sitting up with confusion when they realize that Viktor isn’t in the bed with them. “Vi’ya,” they say, voice thick with sleep and the most adorable Japanese accent, “What time’s it?”

Viktor tries his best to smile for his love and thanks the heavens that his Yuuri is far too groggy in the morning and blind without their glasses to notice how forced it is.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says, wishing that the tears clogging his throat didn’t make him sound so choked up. “We’ve got plenty of time to be ready for Yurio’s practice time.”

Yuuri hums and holds out their arms. “Carry me to the shower?” they ask, still weak from sleep and seeming blessedly, wondrously unaware of the panic attack that struck in the night. “For some reason, I feel gross. Did you cuddle me too much again?”

 Viktor chuckles as he lifts his love into his arms, Yuuri’s sleep soft body pliant against him and warm even through the bundle of sheets surrounding them. “I keep telling you, zvezda moya,” he says as the bathroom door closes behind him, “there’s no such thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, not super satisfied with this chapter but hey. I tried. I did it. Hopefully we can get out of this shitty angsty arc and into some fun fluff. I've got a few things planned but we've gotta get out of the GPF first. Ugh. 
> 
> Fun Facts/Thoughts/Notes on this Chapter:  
> \- I figure Viktor can understand a little Spanish since he speaks French and they're both Romantic languages. Correct me if I'm getting the wrong idea.  
> \- Also, at the end of that first part it's kind of up to you how far you think they go? Personally I think they just have a real nice snog but that's just me. Whatever your epitome of intimacy and comfort and all that nice good good stuff is is probably fine for you to imagine, but I'm just putting it out there that that was not necessarily me hinting at the sexy times.  
> \- If you liked Black is the Color, I suggest you check out more of Peter Hollens' stuff because the boy can sing and it's amazing. I love him. In a non-creepy kind of way, obviously.  
> \- I feel like Yuuri working out problems in cute/silly dreams is both very contrived and perfectly accurate. Because there they can come to terms with things they already know but don't want to like... believe? So this internal/external validation is good for them. Maybe. IDK. Tell me what you think.
> 
> And as always, if you have any questions, concerns, reviews, or just some good old emotion fueled key bashing you NEED me to see then drop it down there in the comment box and I will try to get back to you as soon as my brain stops screaming enough to respond like a human being because OMG SOMEONE READ IT AND THEY HAVE FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! *cough* so, yeah. Do that. Please.
> 
> Also! You can find me on tumblr under the same username. I'm pretty sure I linked it in an earlier chapter, too.


	14. Vitya Learns to Let Things Go*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *By which I mean this boy has no chill. Lord help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who quit their job!? Me!! I'll take a lot, my friend. I'm a fairly resilient person. But I REFUSE to be treated the way they were trying to play me the past two weeks. I don't take that shit. I could honestly rant to you all day about how this store tried to play me but I won't. I mean I COULD, but you didn't come here for that good good drama gossip. You came here for that good good YOI floof and I aim to deliver my friends. 
> 
> Again, this chapter is not 100% what I want it to be but if I mess with it any more I'm gonna never post it ever so I'm biting the bullet and moving on. We're back to the kinda disjointed narrative transitions which is trowing me off. I got too used to those durn SNS cuts. 
> 
> No dancing this chapter (sorry) but there are a few mood music links if you wanna check those out. Next chapter I'm planning on having a LOT of dancing which is reason #2 why I want to go ahead and get this chapter out of the way so that I can start on that. Gonna be doing a lot of YouTube research.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!! 
> 
> Oh! And ALSO there was a lovely fanart done by a lovely lovely human being linked in a comment on the last chapter. I didn't get a chance to ask the artist if I could link it here so if you wanna check that out and send them some love I promise you it's ADORABLE!!!!

Viktor is unusually silent the next morning, but no less bubbly or attentive so Yuuri doesn’t worry too much. A silent Viktor is a thoughtful Viktor, and eventually – hopefully – he’ll figure out whatever it is that’s bothering him. They wonder if perhaps it has anything to do with their vague recollection of a panic attack and a siren song, but the necessary discussions can be saved for after Yuri’s won gold.

When they leave the hotel, the press is incessant if somewhat subdued, perhaps able to feel the aura of anger that surrounds Yuri Plisetsky like the fog on Mount Fuji. Every time one of them raises a microphone in Yuuri’s direction, Yuri is there with a growl and a glare, pushing his coach further down the hallway without a second glance.

“Yurio,” Yuuri says gently once they’re rink-side, Yuri’s skate guards tucked under their arm as they hand over his water bottle. It’s the last practice before the free skates begin and the tension is palpable. “You need to calm down.”

Yuri takes a single deep breath, closing his eyes as he lets it out slowly. With his eyes still closed he nods and, without a word or a look back, skates onto the rink.

Yuuri sighs but leans against the barrier, watching as their little skater darts back and forth across the rink, looping and twirling as fragments of his free skate melt and blend into mindless spins and step sequences.

“Are you worried?” Viktor asks from their shoulder, as dashing as ever in his suit and tie. He watches as Yuri passes Otabek and Phichit, throwing a smug smile at the two of them as he goes.

“No,” Yuuri says honestly, shaking their head ever so slightly. “This morning I woke up and thought to myself ‘maybe he’d be better off without me, after all’, but,” they trail into silence and Viktor fights with himself to let them continue and not interrupt with how silly that thought is.

Yuuri smiles, turning ever so slightly to eye Viktor’s conflicted face. “But then I thought to myself how much I really want to see our lovely Yurachka beat the blades off of everyone else here,” their smile turns slightly sinister, “and how could I possibly miss that?”

Viktor chuckles, arm sliding around Yuuri’s waist to draw them into his side. “My darling you are a wonder,” he says. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Yuuri hums, settling against Viktor’s shoulder and tilting their head against his neck. “Vitya,” they say as the commentators announce two more minutes on the ice, “thank you for this morning.”

Viktor hums and presses a kiss against Yuuri’s forehead. “Anything for you, my love.”

It’s not the conversation they need to have, but it’s the one that they have time for and so it will have to do.

“Ugh!” Yuri groans as he steps off the ice, gingerly taking his guards from Yuuri. “I leave you for five minutes and you’re already being gross old people. What in the world am I going to do with you two?”

Yuuri snorts as Viktor gasps in mock-offense, and all is right with the world.

Or, well, almost.

There’s a gold medal to be won, after all.

 

* * *

 

Phichit Chulanont never really expected to win gold in his first Grand Prix Final. Of course, he _wanted_ to win. He hoped and dreamed and worked himself to the bone to get here and he’ll hope and dream and work himself to the _marrow_ to make his mark and leave his legacy.

But, he must admit as the scores flash on the board with his name at the very bottom, so has everyone else.

And some of them – well, _most_ of them – okay, pretty much _all of them_ – have been hoping and dreaming and working themselves to the bone for years longer than he has.

In the end, Phichit Chulanont places sixth in his first Grand Prix Final and if he’s honest with himself – ignoring all the voices in his head that tell him where he could have done better and dug deeper, despite all the anger and the sadness and the disappointment – he really isn’t all that mad about it.

 

* * *

 

A Kazakh, a Canadian, and a Russian sit down at a press conference and the punch-line is every reporter who tries to get them to comment on Yuuri Katsuki.

“Skater Altin,” one reporter says, “how do you feel about coming in third? Are you disappointed? How do you feel about the recent buzz online about Skater Plisetsky’s coach Yuuri Katsuki?” It’s a simple ploy, get the skater answering questions and maybe he’ll forget to stop.

Otabek doesn’t bite.

“JJ and Yuri are both admirable foes,” he says into the microphone, tone neutral. “I’m honored to share the podium with them and I know we’ve all worked very hard to be here. Next.”

“Skater Leroy,” another reporter shouts, “How does it feel to come in second to Skater Plisetsky and his coaching team?”

Yuri rolls his eyes while JJ puffs his chest out and barks something about silver and gold and worthy opponents but honestly Yuri doesn’t care. He’s so tired of this pretense.

“Skater Plisetsky,” someone says and oh god, it’s only been like five minutes but already he’s had enough of this bullshit. He sighs explosively and stands up so fast his chair falls back behind him. “Oi Yura,” he shouts, slipping from English to Russian as he looks behind him at Yuuri and Viktor leaning against a wall out of sight. “You want to talk to them now or should I tell ‘em to just fuck off and leave you the fuck alone?”

Yuuri blinks, surprised, as all eyes turn towards where Yuri is shouting even though they can’t see whom he’s shouting at. Yuuri sighs, defeated and annoyed and just really, really done with the whole situation. “I wanted to let you three do your thing before I crashed the party,” they reply in English for JJ’s benefit as they smile apologetically at the two other skaters on the podium, who have by now all turned around as well. “Would it be alright with you two?”

Otabek nods once, stoic despite the fissure of annoyance Yuuri can see in his clenched jaw. From what Yuuri has seen of the young man, they know that he is far too noble to be at all comfortable with the underhanded questions the press keeps throwing his way.  

JJ just shrugs. “I mean, if you want,” he says quietly. Kindly. “King JJ is used to the spotlight, he doesn’t mind sharing just this once.”

Yuuri snorts and smiles, stepping forward to hop onto the platform. Viktor’s hand snags the hem of their shirt before they can though, his eyes concerned as they look back. [“Vitya,” they say, “I’ll be fine.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeGfss2vsZg)

Viktor wants to protest. Wants to tell Yuuri to stay behind, wants to stand in front of them like some sort of royal guard and protect them from anything and everything. He’s terrified that if Yuuri goes up on that podium then they’ll break again, and even though he doesn’t mind being to one to hold Yuuri tight and seal up all the cracks – would gladly sew Yuuri back together with thread from his own tendons and a needle made from his bones – it hurts to see someone you love hurting.

But there’s a reason that Viktor has given Yuuri his heart for safe keeping, and a reason why he doesn’t demand to keep Yuuri’s safe in return. Viktor reminds himself of this as he loosens his grip on Yuuri’s shirt and gently pulls them into his arms. The body pressed against his may be soft in all the right places but it is so very, very firm where it counts.

Yuuri is made of star dust and moonbeams, held together by chains of diamonds that look oh so delicate but can never, ever, ever be broken. Viktor sighs into Yuuri’s hair and reminds himself of this. His Yuuri may be delicate, but they are oh so very strong.

“Darling, you’re not _fine_ ,” Viktor eventually says into the warmth of Yuuri’s scalp, nuzzling against their ear and making the most of the few seconds he has before he must let them go. “You’re absolutely _amazing_.”

Yuuri draws back, much like Viktor knew they would, but the smile on their face soothes every one of Viktor’s little fears and worries.

He still wants to bundle them up and hide them away in the hollow next to his heart but he supposes that feeling will never really go away, fortunately though a part of Yuuri’s heart has already made itself home in that empty space, just as Viktor’s heart has made itself a home right next to Yuuri’s.

 

* * *

 

JJ, Otabek, and Yuri all hop off the stage as Yuuri takes their spot in the center seat. “Hello,” they say to the confused but eager crowd of cameras and microphones assembled before them. “My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I’m here because you all seem to have questions for and about me, and I think it would be easier for all of us if you just ask me directly instead of distracting these lovely skaters.” The press seems somewhat abashed at that. Good.

“So, who’s first?”

The first reporter to raise her hand does so violently and Yuuri points a finger at her immediately. “Hi,” she says, “My name is Catrina and I’m from FeedBuzz News. First things first, can you confirm for me whether or not you are indeed the Katsudon Cutie?”

Yuuri smiles sheepishly. “Ah, I apologize,” they say. “I forgot that we never actually confirmed it officially.” They clear their throat and lean forward in the chair.

“For the record, Miss Catrina, yes. I am the one known to Viktor’s fans as the Katsudon Cutie,” Yuuri smiles. “But you can just call me Yuuri, if you’d like.”

More hands fly in the air as others hurry to jot things down on little notepads. Yuuri takes a deep breath and points to a random hand in the crowd.

“Mister Katsuki,” the young reporter says, and Yuuri cringes just a little bit at the formality. “I’d like to ask about what you brought to the table in regards to Yuri Plisetsky’s coaching. According to our sources he was already being trained in ballet by Lilia Baranovskaya, is this correct?”

Yuuri nods, and goes on to explain how and why they became Yuri’s coach. “It was my job to coach Yuuri in performance and interpretation. Lilia, Yakov, and Viktor were all very good at getting him to move the right way, so I focused on getting him to feel the right way and then add that emotion to the movement.”

The reporters nod and jot things down on their notepads, and so it goes. Yuuri answers questions about their college experience – classes, their major, what it was like to room with Phichit and how they got into ice skating because of it. “I was never very good at jumps,” Yuuri admits, “but I very much enjoyed the challenge of it all. It was very soothing.”

They find themselves actually enjoying it for a brief moment, but all good things must come to an end and soon the curtain drops and the elephant in the room is revealed. Yuuri doesn’t know who asks it, but the question goes like this, “An interview with former ballerina Rebecca Anastasia has made quite a few headlines recently, is there anything you’d like to say in response?”

Yuuri spends a few minutes thinking about that. _Do_ they have anything to say in response?

Eventually they sigh into the microphone as they fight down the panic that bubbles in the back of their throat. Now is not the time. “I have heard of this interview,” Yuuri says slowly and truthfully, “but I’ve been far too busy with helping Yuri to win gold that I haven’t had a chance to look it over.”

The reporter nods and ducks to scribble on his pad but Yuuri isn’t finished. “[I do, however, have something that I’d like to say.](https://youtu.be/deqUHOT0fjU?t=103)”

Everyone in the room quiets down.

Yuuri sighs, eyes flickering out over their captive audience. “Before I went to America for school I studied ballet for sixteen years. If you’ve done your research you’ll have already known this, and we’ve already discussed my forays into more styles of dance. I incorporated a lot of these new styles into my ballet and I won a lot of awards with that style of dance. But when I graduated, the Nashville Ballet was the only company who would ‘take a chance on me’. I made no friends there, and none of them ever saw fit to make friends with me. They laughed at my pointe shoes and mocked my long hair and it was…” Yuuri sighs, hands folded on the table nervously. “It was not very fun.”

The room remains silent.

“I spent a single season at the Nashville Ballet because I thought they wanted me there to dance the way that I was good at. In actuality, they wanted to strip me down and break me until I danced the way _they_ wanted me to,” Yuuri swallows, “the way I was ‘supposed’ to. The Nashville Ballet thought that I lacked proper training and education, but I learned to dance before I learned to walk. I was taught personally by Minako Okukawa, former ballerina and recipient of the Benois de la Danse. When I learned everything that a danseur need know, she then taught me as a danseuse.” Yuuri takes a deep breath. “The fact is that I was far better at the latter than the former, so that’s what I decided to do. I was different and I scared them. That is the truth.”

Yuuri sniffs, unaware that their eyes had begun to mist as the memories exploded behind their eyes like fireworks. “There is no greater insult in this world than to train all your life to be the fairy queen, and end up cast as the donkey,” the mutter to themselves thought they’re sure it was picked up by the microphones.

Yuuri blinks away the tears and stares out over the sea of faces as they stare back at them, enraptured. No one moves, no one even breathes.

“I think,” an older looking reporter towards the front says, standing up as she tucks her notebook into her bag, “that that will be all, Katsuki-san.” She bows at the waist, just a short bob of her torso before she stands straight again. “Thank you very much for humoring us.”

The rest of the reporters repeat her sentiments as they all gather their things to leave as well.

Yuuri lets out a breath and smiles.

It’s over.

 

* * *

 

It is, of course, not over. Yuuri’s name will be splashed across sports section headlines for weeks to come but they don’t care. Most of it will be good things, praising their influence on Yuri’s artistry, and the very few negative comments will immediately be shut down by the vicious fans that spring up to support them.

Yuuri will find it hard to fade into the background, but by the time they’re back in Russia, curled up on the couch between Viktor, Yuri, and Makkachin it won’t matter anyway.

But, before they can return to Russia and the domestic bliss that Yuuri and Viktor have been craving to get back to, there is the question of Yuri’s exhibition skate. It is that very question that finds Yuri bursting into Yuuri and Viktor’s hotel room the next morning, Otabek following behind and delicately closing the door after them.

Yuuri, former resident of a Wayne State University dormitory, does little more than snuffle at this assault but Viktor, whose sleep is lighter than a feather pumped full of helium, practically rockets upright in a flurry of limbs that amuses Yuri enough to calm the tsunami of his presence into more of a mild typhoon.

“Wha’s’appening,” Viktor sputters, frantically glancing around the room as he settles down ever so slightly. He blinks owlishly at Yuri, eyebrows scrunching together as his gaze darts from Yuri to Otabek and then back again.

Yuuri mutters, making grabby hands at Viktor and smushing him back down against their chest. “Shhh,” they murmur, hands a clumsy attempt at soothing against Viktor’s hair. “Sl’p t’m s’not o’er yet.”

“Oh ew,” Yuri says, recoiling. “It’s too early in the morning to be so gross!”

“Shh,” Yuuri insists, opening one eye and glaring blindly at what they assume to be Yuri’s blurry outline. “S’too early to be s’ _loud_.”

Viktor says nothing, nuzzling at Yuuri’s chest like a sleepy kitten.

Yuri groans, stalking forward to yank the curtains open and let a particularly bright beam of sunlight into the room, effectively rousing both occupents of the bed.

“Yurio,” Yuuri whines, “why are you being so mean to me?” They reach blindly for their glasses, sliding them on and jumping slightly at the sight of Otabek sitting calmly in one of the armchairs. “Oh,” they say, surprised, “good morning, Otabek.”

Otabek nods but Yuri scoffs. “More like afternoon by now,” he says. “I thought you were supposed to be good at setting alarms, Yura.”

Yuuri blinks, shifting so that they’re sitting against the headboard while Viktor remains stubbornly under the covers as he resettles his head in Yuuri’s lap. “I did set alarms,” Yuuri says, reaching for their phone and cringing at the time. “I set like three.”

“Five,” Viktor corrects without thinking, cringing as all eyes turn towards him.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says with a calm sort of threat in their voice that Viktor hasn’t heard since he was seven. “How would you know how many alarms I set?”

Viktor hums, hiding his face in the crease of Yuuri’s hip. “I know everything about my Yura,” he shrugs, murmuring half-hearted excuses into the soft fabric of Yuuri’s pajama pants.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says again, “did you turn off my alarms?”

Viktor raises up, mouth dipped in a fierce pout. “You were so cute, zolotse!” he defends, “and I am but a mortal man! I was helpless in the face of your angelic countenance! Forgive me, darling! I-”

Yuuri cuts him off with a strong peck against his lips and leans away with a soft smile. “I forgive you, tenshi-dono,” they say, “but I do believe that it will take a bit more to convince Yurio.”

They glance over to see the young man in question visibly steaming. He takes one long, deep breath before letting it out, visibly relaxing. “You get off this time, Nikiforov,” Yuri says. “You’re an idiot, and you two finally got around to seeing what everyone else already knew, and it’s been a stressful few days for everyone, and you’re an idiot, so this time I’ll forgive you.” Yuri huffs once, decisive, before his tone dips down and his head tilts up, sunlight casting shadows over his sneer.

“But this better not happen again, you hear me.”

It’s not a question, but Viktor chirps his assent almost immediately.

Yuuri smothers a giggle, catching Otabek’s eye from across the room and noting the distinctly amused quirk of his eyes. Yuuri spent the first eighteen years of their life with a rough around the edges older sister – they know how to read stoic.

“You’re one to talk, Yurio,” they say. “You forget that I’m the one who has to wake you up when you ‘accidentally’ break your alarm clock.”

Yuri flushes, suitably abashed.

“You are the only person I know who doesn’t just use their phone for an alarm,” Viktor supplies from his nest on Yuuri’s thighs. “Even Yakov uses his phone.”

“Yurio goes through enough phones as it is, Vitya,” Yuuri answers sagely. “No need to trouble the poor souls at the Zerivon store more than we have to.”

Otabek snorts.

 

* * *

 

“You do realize that Lilia is going to be very disappointed in you when she realizes that you’re skating to something different, da?” Viktor says a few hours later, once he’s been coaxed from the bed and into some pants. Yuri and Otabek had filled them in on the plan over a cup or two or five of room service coffee. “You’re going to have to put up with that once we get back to Russia.”

Yuri scowls and rolls his eyes as he tosses yet another top into the pile behind him. “I asked you to help me pick out an outfit, not judge my life choices. You’re not even my real dad.”

Yuuri giggles from where they’re standing by the bed, mixing and matching outfits while Otabek stands nearby offering his stoic opinion on which ripped top goes best with which jacket. So far, they’ve got a few really killer looks going but Yuri still hasn’t found The One.

“Also,” Viktor says, looking over at the bed and frowning at the lack of fabric in most of those shirts. “You do realize you’ll have to skate in this. _On ice_. Why can’t you just wear your costume from your original exhibition piece?”

Yuri rolls his eyes, sitting back to glare at Viktor. “Katsudon,” he says, “can you talk some sense into your idiot fiancé? He’s really killing my mood with all this mother hen bullshit.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says without even looking away from the two tops he’s comparing side by side. “Leave Yurio alone. He _just_ got done telling us how his costume doesn’t match the theme of the new piece and I’m pretty sure this whole process would go much faster if you would help, rather than complain every five seconds.”

Viktor whines, predictably, but crawls over to bother Yuuri and so is no longer Yuri’s problem. Fine by him.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines, “I just don’t want my poor son to make a mistake he’ll regret! He’s being so… so… _impulsive_. I’m _worried_!”

Yuuri looks down at Viktor like he’s starting to lose his mind. “Viktor, I don’t want to hear you of all people worried about someone else’s impulsiveness. In all likelihood, Yurio picked it up _from you_ , so you can either be a good coach and support his decisions or be a hypocrite and continue on as you are.” With that Yuuri turns back to the bed and glances at Otabek. “I’m thinking the black tank and the black leather jacket, what do you think?”

Otabek hums and looks over their options. “Yura,” he calls, “did you find the purple jacket yet?”

Yuri throws it at the bed in response, and Otabek sets it next to the tank Yuuri was referring to. “If you ask me, Yura’s too pale to wear that much black with the rink lights as bright as they are. It’ll wash him out like crazy. But if we put some color next to his face,” he gestures at the jacket, “then it should be fine.”

Yuuri nods, considering. “You’re right,” they say. “I like it.”

Viktor sighs but doesn’t get up from the floor. Instead he leans his face against Yuuri’s thigh and looks over the spread from a different angle. Literally.

“What do you have for accessories?” he asks, eyeing the pile of thick gold chains pooled near the head of the bed. “The neckline of that top is too low and unembellished, you need some bling.”

Yuuri smiles and puts their hand on Viktor’s hair.

“Excellent choice, Vitya,” they say. “Gold is especially appropriate for the gold medalist, ne?”

Yuri, still searching for that damn pair of pants, smiles just a little bit wider.

This is going to be _epic_.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek never does get his sunglasses back, but the smile on Yuri’s face when they both bow to the crowd is more than worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! You made it to the end!!! I hope you liked it!!! 
> 
> Fun Facts:  
> \- That wake up scene with Otabek, Yurix2, and Viktor was actually supposed to go in an earlier chapter but I wrote something else instead so it's been chilling under the "Notes & Extra Pieces" heading in my word document for a while and I really liked it so I wanted to use it.   
> \- Speaking of word documents, this shit is almost 60,000 words long. It is currently longer than Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Great Gatsby, The Notebook, and The Giver so... yeah... wow.
> 
> As always, if you have questions, concerns, or a fun fact of your own you can drop them down there in the comment box. I love looking through them. I try to reply as soon as I am mentally able to since they're all so wonderful and I have to get past the internal screaming to get to the thoughtful human-sounding response that I want to give. 
> 
> Important Note: I have NO IDEA when the next chapter might be but it's going to cover the banquet and the subsequent after party because I promised clubbing in Barcelona a long time ago and I'm gonna deliver my dudes! I just have to figure out some logic and then the playlist so if you have any club tunes/great songs to get DOWN to then drop those down in the comments box as well because currently I'm just scrolling through YouTube dance choreography crying inside because there's so much!!! And I have to some how get them to dance battle? And pick teams? Oh, my brain.


	15. Dirty Dancing Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Yule, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, and whatever holiday you celebrate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Holiday of Your Choice!!! Ya girl is back with another chapter of floomf and love just in time for the festive season! 
> 
> There is MUSIC in this chapter, so the links will be in the text as usual, listen at your leisure. I spent a long time trying to find the right tracks for everything so I hope you enjoy them. There's also art of Original Canon Yuuri tagged in the body of the story because I was inspired by it. I modeled Yuuri's outfit after it because I thought it fit my Yuuri perfectly! If you wanna send some love that artist's way please do! It's absolutely lovely!
> 
> Special thanks to Xxbooklover4everxX for this beautifully dramatic idea. This chapter is just the prelude to what I have in store so we aren't there yet but their idea was the perfect set-up for what I have in store. <3
> 
> More notes to follow, but I think that's all from me right now! Thanks to you lovely patient people and I hope you enjoy!

There’s enough time between the two events for a reasonable human being to return from the exhibition skate and have plenty of time to get ready for the gala that evening. Yuri has been on this earth for too long to expect Viktor Nikiforov to abide by the laws of “reasonable human beings”.

“Viktor, why aren’t you dressed?” Yuuri asks from Yuri’s elbow, far too patient and ugh, _fond_ for Yuri’s current aggravation.

Viktor does not look up from where he’s sprawled across the hotel room bed on his stomach like a teenage girl in an early 2000’s Disney Channel Rom-Com. “Oh, Yura,” he says, eyes still rooted to the phone cradled in his hands as his feet swing back and forth in the air, “Have you read these articles? It’s like everyone’s done a complete 360!!”

Yuri stares, flabbergasted.

“I think you mean 180, darling,” Yuuri says, kindly, balancing like a fucking fairy on a pair of ridiculous heels, the hem of their dress swishing around their ankles as they walk over to the wardrobe and pull out Viktor’s favorite suit. “Come on, you ridiculous man, hurry up and get dressed before Yurio blows a fuse.”

And, somehow, that’s that. All three of them show up, fully dressed and right on time.

Somewhere in Russia, Yakov sheds a single tear.

 

* * *

 

Phichit is halfway through his left wing when his phone chimes with an incoming DM. He barely flinches at the perky ringtone, flicking his wrist just so and leaning back to survey his work. He’d finished with Yuuri’s makeup with just enough time to finish his own and had sent the little minx ahead to corral their scatterbrained fiancé while he highlighted and contoured himself from a woodland nymph to a Greek god. 

With a final once over, and extra dab of highlight, and a wink at the mirror Phichit finally puts down the poofy brush and picks up his phone to read the message. The username is unfamiliar but the person behind it is not.

**Enrisque** : Hey Phichit, this is Enrique. I saw on the net that you and Yuuri were in Barcelona and I wanted to see if you’d pass on a message for Yuuri? She hasn’t responded to my DM

**Phichit-Chu** : Oh, hi Enrique I 4got you lived here. How’s it been since you graduated?

**Phichit-Chu** : Also, Yuuri uses they pronouns in case you forgot.

**Enrisque** : yeah, yeah, sure, w/e, I’m good

**Enrisque** : just tell her I wanna see her. for old times sake, you know? maybe hang like we used to? you can come too if you want? more the merrier.

**Enrisque** : still not into threesomes tho so you should bring a date lol

Phichit blinks, shocked and a little revolted. To be fair though, Enrique did always have an unpleasantly vulgar sense of humor. It’s part of the reason why Yuuri and Phichit had stopped going to clubs with his crowd after a month or so of being felt up by very unwelcome wandering hands.

**Phichit-Chu** : Yuuri’s in a committed relationship now and THEY are super busy but I’ll pass the message on

He really wouldn’t though.

**Enrisque** : aw man.

**Enrisque** : she never seemed like the relationship type. you sure you aren’t lying to me to get me to back off?

**Enrisque** : she does remember me, right? we were in the same dance program.

**Enrisque** : we kinda hooked up there for a bit though she’d never let me go all the way.

**Enrisque** : did she ever get that surgery I told her about?

Phichit blinks again, staring down at his phone in vaguely enraged befuddlement. He’s pretty sure Yuuri remembers Enrique. He doubts anyone who went to Wayne State at the same time as Enrique ever forgot Enrique. He just had that kind of self-centered way about him that made you remember him, if only so you knew to continuously avoid him.

He’s also pretty sure Yuuri and Enrique only ever hooked up in Enrique’s blacked-out dreams.

**Phichit-Chu** : What surgery?

**Enrisque** : oh, you know, that gender switching one. i was so freaked when I found out she had a dick, dude. i said to her, “I get it. Just get the surgery and then we’ll talk” because come on, man, I ain’t a barbarian. dude thinks he’s a chick that’s good enough for me so long as she’s got the right plumbing, you know what I’m saying.

Phichit stares at the message. Reads it. Refreshes the app. Nope, still there.

**Phichit-Chu** : Yuuri isn’t a girl

**Enrisque** : oh, really? bummer dude I was hoping to hit that. boys aren’t really my thing, you know.

**Phichit-Chu** : Yuuri isn’t a boy, either.

**Enrisque** : the fuck? the what the hell is he? she? it?

[Phichit-Chu has left the chat]

 

* * *

 

The banquet itself is a relatively sedate event but nothing unusual, as far as banquets go. Yuuri and Viktor spend a long while chatting with a few of Yuri’s current and potential sponsors, smiling graciously as each one congratulates the two of them on Yurio’s success.

For his part, Yuri tends to stay quiet during these conversations, fiddling absently with the ribbon of his gold medal. He’s not very good at talking business with sophisticated types and neither Viktor nor Yuuri are going to force him to do so. Just the fact that he’s there and wearing his medal is enough to satisfy the sponsors.

It doesn’t take long to finish the rounds, though, and before he knows it Viktor is dragging Yuuri out onto the dancefloor.

“Oh, Yura,” Viktor cries out, reaching for Yuuri’s hands as the band brings out the tenor sax and launches into a lovely rendition of one of [Viktor’s favorite songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x49fir5Xoxc&list=PL8HMd2TH9UjvhxqbGXx89lhZJIrtkxU8B&index=12), “come, come, we must dance!”

Yuuri smiles indulgently and apologizes to the stuffy rich dudes with a shrug and tilt of their head as Viktor whisks them away onto the dancefloor. It’s all the same to Yuri though, who beats a hasty retreat to a quiet corner as the two of them meander off onto the small crowd of people pairing off to sway lazily to the beat of the music.

Meanwhile, Yuuri Katsuki sways to the rhythm of a song they’ve never heard, in the arms of the man they love more than anything else in this world - aside from perhaps poodles and Katsudon - and finds no fault with life.

It reminds Yuuri of the numerous balls Minako would take them to whenever her friends were starring in one ballet or another in Tokyo. The lovely ballerinas would always coo over Yuuri’s then-slight frame and soft cheeks and insist that “Minako’s adorable little student” dance with them.

Yuuri looks up at Viktor and smiles to see him mouthing along to what Yuuri assumes are the lyrics to the song. They smile, and Viktor notices, raising his voice to a soft whisper to croon into Yuuri’s ear.

“Lovely,” he sings into Yuuri’s ear, a moment for just the two of them. “Never, never change. Keep that breathless charm. Won’t you please arrange it?” Viktor draws back, lifting a hand from Yuuri’s waist to cradle their face. “Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight.”

The song continues on into riffs and growls but Yuuri only has ears for the soft puff of Viktor’s breath against their face, only has eyes for the way that Viktor’s beautiful blue eyes shimmer and glimmer with wonder as they gaze upon Yuuri. They continue to swirl across the dance floor but it’s purely muscle memory, bodies already used to the ebb and flowing of the other as they sway and step.

Yuuri is lost in those eyes for what feels like eternity, drowning and yet unafraid, safe and secure and overcome in only the way that Viktor can make them feel. Viktor’s bottom lip twitches ever so slightly just as the saxophone player dips into a sustained, final note although neither of them are quite paying attention to the physicality of his performance.

That subtle twitch is just enough to spark Yuuri into movement, the gap between their lips made smaller by the height of Yuuri’s heels.

It’s bliss. 

 

* * *

 

 

At the drinks table, Yuri runs into Phichit and Otabek, and the three skaters watch the couple dance with an interesting mix of opinions on the ordeal. Yuri can see the unbearably fond tilt in both their faces and scowls, turning his attention to the various bottles of chilled wine. "Do either of you know if I'm allowed to drink this?" he asks, distracting both from the dancing couple and turning their curious gazes on himself. 

Phichit shrugs. “I'm not sure if _I'm_ allowed. In America, the legal age is 21,” Phichit says. “But in Thailand it’s only 20. I don't know what it is in Spain. Probably 16 or something.”

Otabek hums, vaguely amused but largely curious. “Does anyone really follow the legal age in America, though?”

Phichit laughs. “Depends on who you ask,” he says, smile tweaking mischievously and eyes glancing meaningfully to gauge whether Coach Celestino was nearby or not. “So far as Ciao Ciao knows, Yuuri and I only ever had the occasional glass of wine whenever he’d whip up some authentic Italian fare. Something about not tasting right without the ‘earthy, peppery bite of a good red wine’.”

Phichit shrugged. “To be fair, I always preferred Fuzzy Navels over anything grape-based. Too fancy for a college student’s palate, you know.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Otabek responded, thoughtful and, yes, definitely amused. “In Kazakhstan the drinking age is 21 and my parents weren’t much into alcohol so I never got to try it. I hear there’s no drinking age in Russia, though.”

“There isn’t,” Yuri says as he blatantly joins the conversation. Neither Phichit nor Otabek seem surprised, though, so he doesn’t feel too bad for butting in. “But the culture is… complicated.”

Phichit nods. “I can imagine,” he says. “God, being international competitors sure makes getting krunk so confusing. Am I legal? Am I not? Who knows!”

Otabek sighs, nodding, and Yuri frowns.

They are silent for a moment, staring at the drinks table as though it will answer all of their questions. “Well,” Phichit says after a while, hand to his chin. “Yuuri told me a while back that sparkling red grape juice tastes just like red wine but, you know, without the ‘gross alcohol burn’, obviously.”

Yuri blinks. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Phichit smirks, winking as he snatches a glass of champagne. “If anyone asks, just tell them you thought it was sparkling white grape juice. I’m a minor,” he says with a sassy shrug and a sip of the bubbly beverage, “how am I supposed to know the difference?”

Otabek snorts but follows suit. “I like your style, Chulanont,” he says as he takes a sip, wincing ever so slightly at the light burn of alcohol. “Although on second thought, it’s really not that good, is it?”

Yuri shrugs and snags a flute of the stuff, taking a deep sip and rolling it over his tongue. He frowns. “Ugh,” he says. “No, it is not. Trust me, Viktor lets me have a glass of the good stuff when I do well in practice – and Yuuri isn’t looking. This is definitely _not_ that.”

Phichit shrugs and downs his flute before liberating their flutes from their hands and downing those as well. “As I said,” he shrugs as they stare at him. “College student.”

Yuri decides then and there that he does not want to go to college. He glances at the band as they change sets, clapping politely along with everyone else as all the players save the pianist go on break. She starts up a[ lively cover of a pop song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYrlrMtAB3M&list=PL8HMd2TH9UjvhxqbGXx89lhZJIrtkxU8B&index=11) Yuri vaguely recognizes, but it doesn't matter to Yuuri and Viktor, who never even stopped dancing when the music ended. Its like they make their own music, the two of them. Yuri scowls. 

“I thought you’d be happy for them,” Otabek says in his non-judgmental, purely curious way. Yuri tilts his head to grimace in Otabek’s general direction but the fact that he doesn’t actually look away from the giggling couple says a lot about his feelings on the matter. Phichit snickers.

“He’s just a tsundere little kitty cat,” he says, ignoring Otabek and Yuri’s complete confusion over the unfamiliar word. “It’s kind of cute, really.”

Yuri feels a muscle in his left eye twitch ominously but he ignores it. Living in close proximity to Viktor “Look Yakov, I bought a pink convertible isn’t it cool!!” Nikiforov for as long as he has has given him the patience of a goddamn saint. Regardless of what the man himself would say to the contrary.

“I dunno,” he says to Otabek. “I’m happy for them, yeah. Their obvious pining was fucking exhausting but this new lovey-dovey vibe is just as draining. New chapter, same Viktor.”

Otabek hums as though this makes perfect sense to him. Yuri gets the feeling that Otabek actually does understand his conflicting frustration. He’s a pretty empathetic guy.

“Is it like… like watching your parents?” Phichit asks, because apparently he’s still trying to wrap his brain around the whole thing.

Yuri snorts, hiccupping in his attempt to hold back raucous laughter. “Oh, god could you imagine Viktor Nikiforov trying to be a father? Yuuri I get. Yuuri makes perfect sense, but Viktor Nikiforov once cried for three hours because he watched an ASPCA commercial with a poodle in it. Putting him anywhere near a baby would guarantee their mutual destruction.”

Phichit hums, and that’s the end of that until a blaring remix of the goddamn hamster dance explodes from Phichit’s back pocket. Phichit scowls but quickly fishes his phone from his pocket to check who’s messaging him.

He groans, quickly unlocking the screen so he can practically stab the keyboard with his thumbs as he types. From what he’s seen of Phichit’s eternal happiness so far, such pointed rage is unusual.

Yuri blinks and glances at Otabek before turning back to Phichit. He’d say they’re friendly enough with each other for it to be okay for him to ask, “everything okay?” instead of just ignoring the incident.

Phichit either agrees or doesn’t care as he stabs the send button and looks up at the curious skaters standing before him. He sighs deeply before turning his phone around and displaying the message he just received as well as the few messages that preceded it. “I got a DM from one of the former exchange students in Detroit. He’s from Spain and saw that me and Yuuri were here competing. He,” Phichit sighs again and just hands the two of them his phone with a huffed, “just see for yourself I don’t even want to look at it right now.”

Otabek and Yuri look at each other and shrug before cradling the phone between them and scrolling up to the beginning of Phichit’s conversation with someone whose twitter handle is Enrisque. Quaint.

**Enrisque** : yo Phichit, I know you’re still there!

**Enrisque** : dammit ya twink, Yuuri’s hot and all but she ain’t worth this shit

**Phichit-Chu** : I told you before, Yuuri is a THEY

**Enrisque** :  whatever, all I wanna know is if I’ll get to put my dick where it’s SUPPOSED to go, ya know. I ain’t into that gay shit.

Yuri takes a very, very deep breath, and it is for this reason and this reason alone that he is able to hand Phichit’s phone back to him before he throws it across the room. “You don’t want that in my hand,” he says through tight lungs and and even tighter jaw. “Your case it too cute to be smashed to smithereens.” 

Phichit doesn’t even ask, just pockets the device as he nods in understanding.

Otabek is visibly and silently seething, which is the most terrifying thing Yuri thinks he’s ever seen in his life. “What are you going to do about it?” Otabek says in the kind of voice that makes Yuri think of Russian spies in American movies, the kind of tone that implies that something will be done but the only question left to be answered is by whom. 

Phichit sighs, “Well,” he says. “For one thing, I’m not telling Yuuri anything about it.” Which is a plan of action that is immediately agreed upon by all three parties.

“Just tell him that Yuuri doesn’t want to see him,” Yuri suggests as though that were the obvious course of action and Phichit shrugs, pulling out his phone to send a message along those very lines.

**Phichit-Chu** : Yuuri says they don’t want to see you.

There, simple.

**Enrisque** : no way, I’m the best. are you sure she isn’t getting me confused with someone else? Here, I’ll send a picture.

**Enrisque** : [my.hot.bod.img]

Phichit groans. “Nope,” he says, opening up the image and rolling his eyes at how much douche can be contained in one picture. He turns the phone around and Yuri physically recoils.

“I know a picture’s worth a thousand words,” Yuri says, “but I’ve never seen one that just says ‘fuckboi’.”

 Otabek snorts despite his agitation and nods. “He’s certainly not as suave as he seems to think. If he won’t listen to reason then just block him.”

Phichit shrugs, and does just that.

Otabek, Phichit, and Yuri all three assume that that will be the end of it and for the next few hours, it is. The banquet ends in the early evening, as always, and the skaters break off to get changed for the after party that none of them had explicitly planned but still know is definitely happening.

 

* * *

 

A half hour later Yuuri, Viktor, Chris, Phichit, Leo, Otabek, Yuri, Mila, Sara, and a few skaters that Viktor doesn’t recognize but nonetheless welcomes into the fray are all dressed to the nines in their best clubbing clothes, ready to hit the town and get down.

The club they go to is – ironically to those who don’t know him – chosen by Otabek, who insists that he knows all of the hottest dance clubs in town. When they empty out of their half dozen cabs onto the curb in front of the line they don’t even have to work their angles to get VIP treatment. The bouncer just nods at Otabek, stamps their hands, and ushers them through.

Yuuri feels like they should question this, but before they get a chance to they’re overwhelmed by the [thrumming bass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HsVAvaDYXKM) and the flashing lights of the elevated DJ booth. “Let me know if you have any requests,” Otabek says before they split up to get drinks and find a table, Yuri at his side positively beaming and bouncing on his heels in his excitement. “I know a few of the guys working tonight.”

And yeah, okay. Yuuri’s done questioning things tonight.

They’re especially not going to question it when Viktor’s hand dips to their waist, brushing against the exposed skin above their waistband. They shift their weight, pushing into the exploratory touch and cast a smirk over their shoulder at Viktor’s awestruck face. “Do you wanna dance, Vitya?” they ask in a low tone, fighting a triumphant giggle as color rises on Viktor’s cheeks.

When Viktor is so struck that he can only nod mutely, they give up on containing their laughter, smiling as they pull Viktor into their arms and into the fray of the dancefloor, writhing and seizing as it is with the rhythm of hundreds of other dancing bodies. Yuuri doesn’t hesitate to plaster themselves to Viktor’s body, and though the flush on his cheeks doesn’t go away, it’s clear that Viktor himself doesn’t much mind the close quarters.

Yuuri gives themselves a moment to fall into the pounding beat and crooning vocals of the music humming through the air around them, hips falling into the rhythm that thumps through their body like the pulse of their blood – up from the floor through the heels of their boots and straight into their bloodstream. The atmosphere is electric and they can’t help but fall into Viktor’s body as well, bouncing and swinging with every step and turn. The mesh fabric of the [half-skirt](http://mangoat-s.tumblr.com/post/162556854379/concept-crop-top-yuri-but-alsoshirless) attached to their booty shorts sways with the swing of their hips and the billowy sleeves of their high-collared crop top makes the delicate movements of their arms seem that much more sensual.

The lights are dim but not shady, giving the whole room the sultry, seductive vibe without tipping over the very fine line into sinister and unwelcoming. Yuuri feels welcome, if maybe not comfortable – who goes to a dance club for comfort anyway? – and they especially love the way Viktor’s body bends and turns and jumps in just the right way to meet their own movements, complimentary without being competitive.

If Yuuri were a cat, they know they’d be purring up a storm.

 

* * *

 

 

Mila and Sara get lost in the thumping crowd of the dance floor as the others find a booth and Otabek distracts Yuri from the open bar by taking him to meet his DJ friends. They dance and sway to the beat of the music and everything is going wonderfully for all of two minutes. The throbbing pulse of the Spanish lyrics transitions into [a song Mila is familiar with](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6w-_JwgZ6M), and she would be surprised to hear it here in Spain if she weren’t so busy molding her body to the push and pull of Sara’s hypnotic smile.

It doesn’t happen often in the dance clubs she frequents in Russia, once everyone who mattered learned she had a mean left hook and the upper body strength to back it up, but Mila is used to men at dance clubs thinking they’re allowed to put their hands on her whenever they want. When an unwanted hand tries to get frisky with her backside, Mila just brushes it off and pulls Sara’s arms up around her neck so that they’re closer together.

“You think if we exude enough Gay, these boys will leave us alone?” Sara asks with a knowing glint in her eye, smile wide and face flushed. Mila’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

“God, I hope so,” she responds, tucking her mouth near Sara’s ear to make sure that she’s heard over the roaring of the speakers and the crowd. “Would it be better to just put it on a shirt?”

Sara giggles, brushing her nose along Mila’s jaw in an attempt to stifle the sound in her neck as she nods. “Hey assholes, they’re lesbians.”

Mila snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyah ha ha! I hope you enjoyed~!! 
> 
> Fun Facts:  
> \- Sparkling red grape juice does in fact taste just like red wine (or at least muscadine wine) and it's my go-to celebratory beverage because I am underage and dislike the aftertaste of alcohol anyway. I drank a whole bottle on the last day of exams.   
> \- The legal ages in this story are sourced from Wikipedia and I spent way longer than I needed looking into the alcohol scene of these countries than I really needed to. The only thing I really learned though was that it's stupidly complicated.  
> \- Gasolina and Pound the Alarm are two of my "get hype" go-tos for when I need to get motivated to do something like write an essay or finish a project. My other favorite is Thunder by Imagine Dragons. I love it so much but it didn't make sense to include it in this scene so I'll stick it in my pocket for later.   
> \- On the topic of music, I had a Frank Sinatra phase senior year of high school where I listened to his stuff non-stop. It's honestly so good. Singers just don't croon the way they used to nowadays.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! Thanks to all those who have left kudos and comments!!! I try my best to respond to the ones I can so if I haven't responded to your comment then it's probably because the only response my brain can make is excited but unintelligible screaming. 
> 
> I have NO IDEA when I'll update next, it'll all depend on how busy I am over Winter Break but I'll try to make more time for writing next year so hopefully I won't leave you guys hanging for a whole four months again. Thank you for your patience and if I don't see you between now and then, have a great New Years!


	16. Dirty Dancing Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deeeeeeees paaaaaaa cito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I have returned! I actually wrote 3/4 of this chapter in January I just couldn't decide on whether or not to have Enrique embarrass himself by dancing or just nobly concede defeat. Also, I've been working since January on my application (and scholarships!) for studying abroad in Japan this fall. I was accepted by my university! But now I have to apply and be accepted by the host institution. Kansai Gaidai, PLEASE let me in!!!! Orz
> 
> Anyway, this chapter has music!!! Yay!!! Although I severely apologize for Enrique's taste in tunes and DO NOT apologize for my blatant adoration of Yuuri Katsuki - Oblivious Heartbreaker - getting down and dirty with some Yonce... Yuuri on Viktor's mouth like liquor, like like liquor, like like like liquor... *cough* anyway. As usual, the tunes are linked in the text but if you could just imagine that Otabek put a nice little bass-y rift over that weird paparazzi interlude between Yonce and Partition I'd be very appreciative. I posted them individually, but there's still a little bit of it in there.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!!

The view from the DJ booth, Yuri finds, is absolutely hypnotic. Otabek’s friend Cora switches tracks and the crowd moves with her, falling into the new rhythm as she settles it back into its original tempo. She’s like a musical witch casting a spell over the whole crowd, making them bump and grind and writhe to her say so. He tells Otabek this, able to speak at a reasonable volume since they’re both behind the booming speakers, and Otabek simply laughs and nods.

Yuri smiles to himself, tucking closer to his friend’s shoulder as they look out over the sea of Cora’s enthralled dancers. He spots Sara and Mila dancing, her signature red hair and the streaks of gold glitter she’d applied to Sara’s hair before they left shining like a beacon in the crowd. A few meters away from the female skaters is Viktor and Yuuri, one of only a few pairs dancing against the music, too caught up in each other to pay it any mind.

Yuri scoffs and points them out to Otabek who smiles that little smile that Yuri wishes he’d known about when he was searching so desperately for agape. A lot of things remind him of agape nowadays, but Yuri blinks and fights down the blush, and chooses to laugh at his besotted coaches instead.

He receives a text from Phichit about finding a corner booth and just as he looks up to search them out, his eyes catch on another figure going against the crowd. But this man isn’t dancing at all, rather he’s making his way very pointedly towards Viktor and Yura, and Yuri gets a very bad feeling in his stomach when he sees the man reach out and put a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri feels the hand, but pays it no mind. There’s a lot of people dancing around the two of them and a stray touch here or there is nothing unusual. It’s when the hand doesn’t slip away, but rather tightens almost painfully on their shoulder that they finally turn to see who it is.

Viktor, always in tune with Yuuri’s movements, flows like water around them until his chest is to Yuuri’s back and his arms are wrapped low around their waist, teasing over the bare skin of their hips and navel. The man standing in front of Yuuri is Latinx, obviously, as are most of the patrons of this establishment, but something about the angle of his nose and the weird curl of his hair is familiar.

“Yuuri,” the man says, and oh yes, Yuuri does remember that voice, was forced to listen to it for hours and hours during their shared dance classes at Wayne State. Yuuri had thought that Enrique’s graduation meant that they’d never have to hear it again. Unfortunately, they’d been wrong.

“Hello, Enrique,” Yuuri says, leaning into Viktor’s body and hold like it’s better than breathing. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Enrique’s eyes flit from Yuuri’s hair to their exposed thighs to the way Viktor’s mouth suddenly can’t stay away from Yuuri’s neck and then narrow. “Phichit wouldn’t tell me anything,” he says, as if Yuuri is supposed to know what that means, “but you definitely got the surgery, didn’t you?” again, as if Yuuri is supposed to have any idea what the fuck _that’s_ supposed to mean.

They hum, rather than answer right away, and it’s a good thing too because Viktor doesn’t take kindly to Yuuri’s distraction and retaliates by biting gently at the shell of their ear. It’s a good thing he’s supporting at least half of their body weight by now because Yuuri’s knees feel suspiciously weak.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to,” Yuuri says. “The only surgery I’ve had recently was my wisdom teeth. Hurt like a bitch, but nothing to write home about.”

Viktor squeals, mouth detaching to ask, “Zolotse, are there any cute videos of you on the drugs? All high and clueless and absolutely adorable?”

Yuuri laughs, remembering how disappointed Phichit had been when Yuuri had just slept the whole car ride home instead of babbling about the hamster-shaped clouds like he himself had a month prior. They don’t tell Viktor that though, smirking as they drop their head back onto Viktor’s shoulder to whisper “Wouldn’t you like to know, Vitya?” into his ear.

It has the desired effect of renewing Viktor’s ministrations on Yuuri’s neck and oh, there’s no way they’re going to be able to cover all of those hickeys in the morning. Oh well, tomorrow’s problems for tomorrow’s Yuuri. Today’s Yuuri will just deal with today’s problem. They eye Enrique once more, his prolonged silence, stood still in front of them as the crowd of people continues to dance behind him. “I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Yuuri says, sending an apology towards their friend for what they’re about to say, “but Phichit is around here somewhere and I’m sure he’d love to catch up.”

Enrique huffs, eyes once more roving over Yuuri’s body before snapping towards what Yuuri assumes is Viktor’s face but they can’t be too sure. He could be staring at nothing for all Yuuri cares.

And then Viktor once more stops laving attention on the soft skin of Yuuri’s neck and they find that they care very much as Viktor says to Enrique, “Was there something else you needed?”

And that seems to be just what Enrique needed to go from mildly confused annoyance to full on rage. “Yeah, actually,” he says, cocking one hip and crossing his arms in what he must think is an intimidating pose. Viktor is unmoved, but Enrique doesn’t seem to care as he continues, “I’d like you to get your hands off of my girl.”

Yuuri stills.

Viktor blinks.

And then Mila and Sara burst from the small circle that had formed around the three of them with enough enthusiasm to bulldoze the Wall of China. Mila latches onto Viktor’s left arm while Sara plaster’s herself to Yuuri’s right side. “Ah-ha!” Mila cries, “we’ve been looking everywhere for you two! Come on, come on, Phichit ordered a round of something blue and we’re all trying to figure out what it tastes like! I voted for applesauce and feet!”

“No, no, no!” Sara giggles into Yuuri’s shoulder, waggling a finger in Mila’s direction. “It’s obviously gumdrops and gym socks! Totally different!”

This sets Mila into hysterics, but Enrique still isn’t having it. “Oi,” he says. “You drunk whores go find someone else to lean on. This dude and I have beef over Yuuri here.”

“Beef?” Mila says in wonder and Viktor marvels at how good she is at pretending to be drunk because he can smell her breath and he knows she’s nowhere near tipsy. “Well,” she says, patting Viktor’s shoulder soothingly. “Isn’t that great?”

“Why’s it great, Mila?” Sara responds, ever the dutiful – and also sober, Yuuri might add – wing woman to Mila’s theatrics.

Mila laughs, and then her eyes narrow on Enrique, voice deadly serious as she says, straight faced, “Because I’m a vegetarian, and I ain’t fucking scared of him.”

 

* * *

 

“Oi, Otabek,” Yuri says, pointing towards the open spot on the floor where Mila and Sara have just broken through. “I think something’s about to go down.”

Otabek hums, taking in the situation before turning to Cora and tapping on her leather clad shoulder. They exchange a few words before Cora laughs, smiles, and hands Otabek the headphones with a crack of her bright blue bubble gum. “Sure thing, sugar,” she says in a syrupy Southern accent gained from too many years of learning English from Andy Griffith Show reruns. She smiles at Yuri and dusts a spattering of glitter from her bright pink lapel before flouncing off the DJ stand and through the door to the back room Otabek had shown him earlier.

Otabek dons the headphones with practiced ease, fully covering one ear while leaving the other exposed. He beckons Yuri over as he plugs two USBs into the CDJs in front of him and gives the little circular turntables a spin. “So,” he says, “You got a plan?”

Yuri blinks.

Yeah, actually. He kind of does.

 

* * *

 

“You talk big shit for a little girl,” Enrique says to Mila a few seconds after her words finally register in his ridiculously thick head. “Maybe I should teach you how a real lady behaves, eh?”

“Oh?” Mila simpers, arms slipping from around Viktor’s bicep to cross over her chest defiantly. “And how exactly does a ‘real lady’ behave, hm?”

Enrique laughs at this, pointing to where Yuuri stands silently, Sara still wrapped around their right arm, her steady hands a stark contrast to the feigned slur in her voice. “Maybe little Yuuri here could tell you all about it. She always was so _good_ at it.” Yuuri shivers, grateful for Sara’s strength as their mind races, wondering what the actual fuck this dude could be talking about.

“Wait,” Viktor supplies, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and offense on Yuuri’s behalf, “when you said ‘your girl’ were you talking about _Yuuri?_ ”

Enrique scoffs. “Of course, I’m talking about Yuuri. You got your hands on any other girls?”

Yuuri blinks and Viktor scowls, free to lunge forward a few steps without Mila’s arms holding him back. “First of all,” Viktor snarls, stepping around Mila’s defiant form to point a finger in Enrique’s face, “Yuuri doesn’t _belong_ to anyone. No one belongs to anyone else, regardless of their gender. If Yuuri is with me then it’s because _they_ choose to be and I’m not stupid enough to think otherwise. So get _that_ through your head right now.”

Enrique scoffs and rolls his eyes and Viktor Nikiforov sees red. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “Yuuri here ain’t nobody’s woman. Gotcha.”

Viktor huffs. “There you go again,” he says, leaning back onto his heels. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but Yuuri. Is not. A woman.”

Enrique pauses at that, eyes flitting back towards Yuuri. “What,” he says, “You really didn’t get that surgery? I thought you wanted to be a lady, what with the hair and whatnot.”

Yuuri takes a breath, struggling to understand what exactly is going on. “I told you,” they say with more strength than they feel, “I haven’t had any surgeries, and I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Enrique scowls at this, expression thunderous as he throws his hands up in the air. “Goddammit,” he says, “Then what was the point of me coming here if you’re still a dude underneath it all. I told you before I ain’t with that gay shit.” Then he turns to Viktor, face sympathetic. “Man, I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’m sure he had you going there for a while, eh? Other fish in the sea, you know. I’m sure one of these two lovely ladies would give you a good time if you treat ‘em right.”

Viktor would be hard pressed to say when exactly it was that he zoned out of that statement, focusing instead on the way Enrique’s eyes flicked dismissively from Yuuri and lasciviously towards Mila and Sara. All he knows is that when Enrique finally stops talking, looking towards him with expectant sympathy, as if Viktor would ever think of Enrique as someone with whom to empathize – well. He sees red.

And when his fist connects with Enrique’s stupid face, so does everyone else.

 

* * *

 

Right when Enrique shakes his surprise enough and pulls back to land a blow of his own, a spotlight lands on all five of them, and Yuri’s voice booms through the speakers. Otabek trips the fog machine and turns down the jams just enough so that Yuri can be heard.

“Hey, assholes!” Yuri booms, standing next to Otabek in a purposefully relaxed position, voice smooth and calm despite the racing of his heart. “You’re in a dance club, ain’tcha?! Why don’t you settle things like civilized people do in dance clubs.”

Yuri smirks, pausing for dramatic effect as Viktor and Enrique look up at him with puzzled expressions on their faces. Yuri rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers as Otabek flicks on the strobes and the lasers, kicking up the bass and switching tracks as Yuri screams, “It’s time for a dance battle, motherfuckers!!”

The second Yuri’s voice comes over the speakers, Phichit and Chris are moving towards the spotlight. On one hand, neither of them could forgive themselves if they missed a dance battle throw down. On the other hand, Phichit has a bad feeling that it has something to do with the numerous DMs he’s been ignoring for the past half an hour.

Sure enough, when they reach the edge of the crowd lingering on the shadowy edges of the spotlight’s glow it’s Viktor facing off against a man who Phichit had hoped to never see again. The blood dripping from Enrique’s nose makes it a bit better, but the hallowed expression on Yuuri’s face as they all but huddle against Sara for support makes it a near thing.

“Yuuri!” Phichit cries, rushing towards his best friend’s side, Chris right on his heels. “Yuuri, are you alright?”

Yuuri glances towards Phichit and smiles weakly, nodding. “I’m fine,” they say. “Just a bit confused, really. Apparently, Enrique here has some… ideas that Viktor doesn’t agree with.”

“Understatement of the goddamn century,” Sara says, relinquishing her hold on Yuuri in favor of passing them on to Phichit’s capable hands. “Viktor just got there first.”

Chris snickers, “ooh, Yuuri,” he says. “Your new friends are so noble, protecting your honor like that. And a dance battle of all things! So chivalrous, cheri!”

Yuuri laughs, patting Phichit on the arm as he and Chris snicker. “Yes, well, I appreciate the concern but really,” they gently remove Phichit’s hand from their waist, shaking out their shoulders and striding forward to stand between Viktor and Enrique, both seemingly unsure of what to do with this new development. “I can fight my own battles, thank you.”

Phichit whoops as they strike a sassy, confident pose, leaning back to shout, “Hey Phichit, do you still remember the Firewater #4?”

Phichit’s eyes practically sparkle as he trots forward, nodding enthusiastically. “The #4 already, Yuuri!?” he exclaims. “Pulling out all the stops, hm?”

Yuuri laughs, eyes narrowing as they turn back to Enrique. “Just letting a little someone know what they’re messing with is all.”

Phichit cackles, dialing Yuri and getting through immediately. “Hey, Yurio!” he chirps. “Yuuri and I’ve got a little request for you!”

Yuri cackles, relaying the request to Otabek and as the tracks fade out and into a new song, he screams over the speakers, “Let’s get this party started, bitches!!!”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri sighs[ as the song kicks off](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VkqaDC5uzU), shoulders loose before they drop as the bass kicks in, feet loose and hips moving as the bass thunders through their bones. They can feel Phichit at their side, moving in sync despite not having done this in years, although their club dances never required much practice, months of moving together on the ice translating well to solid ground and thumping basslines.

Yuuri swings into the movements with grace, thankful for the reasonable height and chunky base of their heeled boots as they drop into another crouch, hips swaying with the echoing bass hits, popping up into the ratcheting drum lines. They sway when they straighten, hips still grinding and swaying and moving with a mind of their own as their feet cross and hop, shoulders sinking and arms alternating between mind-melting twirls of fingers and the snap of sharp elbows as the music hums in Yuuri’s blood.

When the repeating hook comes in, Yuuri straightens further, left foot turning in small circles as their hips pop and their hands clap along, song fading out into a bass-y beat [before a voice shouts “Drop!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDhyybGLsow) and Yuuri immediately falls into a full split, back curving sinfully until their chest touches the floor. Phichit prefers to step out for the second half of the dance, and that’s fine by Yuuri. They extend one arm out to the side gracefully, wrist turning and snapping as every beat hit draws them up further, shoulders rolling as they straighten up one beat at a time. They prefer to take center stage for this bit anyway.  

_Driver, roll up the partition, please  
Driver, roll up the partition, please_

Yuuri rolls with the beat against the floor, knees bent and hips open before settling back on their heels to run hands up and down their body, grinding up against the air ever so slightly as they throw their head back, hair flicking behind them in a curtain of inky black. Yuuri catches Viktor’s eye over their shoulder and winks before arranging their legs in a coy cross over the other and in a slight shift of weight, popping to their feet and immediately sinking into the throb of the bass.

Yuuri’s hips swing and pop, arms caressing skin that Viktor would love to sink his teeth into as their eyes enrapture and defile with the pure uninhibited spark of Eros incarnate flittering within their chocolatey depths. Yuuri’s mouth parts ever so slightly with their breath, lips flush with the energy of the room and Viktor would give all of his gold medals to be able to kiss that beautiful mouth.

Enrique, when Viktor finally manages to tear his eyes away from his dazzling love for a few moments, looks a combination of bewildered, aroused, and intimidated. Good.

Viktor nods in satisfaction and turns back in time to see Yuuri do some complicated steps with their feet and knees that make Viktor’s own knees weak. He’s pretty sure he contains the whimper that so badly wants to escape his mouth and bury itself in Yuuri’s beautiful neck.

Chris chuckles beside him. Dammit.

“You know, mon ami,” he says. “It’s too bad there’re no poles in this place.”

And oooooooh, that’s a mental image Viktor didn’t know he needed. But now he has it and it would take the combined forces of Genghis Kahn and a whole fleet of enraged Yuri Plisetskys to take it from him.

Yuuri strikes a finishing pose and Otabek feeds in another neutral bassline as Yuuri sizes up Enrique’s complicated face. “Well?” they say, hands on their hips and feet spread defiantly, “you going to try to top that, or are you going to leave me the hell alone?”

Enrique’s face turns an interesting shade of purple before he turns to where Phichit had stoop filming Yuuri dance. “Oi, Phichit,” he barks, jostling Phichit’s gaze up from where it had been scrolling across the screen as his fingers flew across the keyboard. He blinks expectantly and Enrique scowls. “Get your MC friend on the line. I’ve got a request.”

Yuuri smirks at Enrique’s confident façade, gracefully bowing with a sweep of their hand to offer him the empty dancefloor as the crowd around them explodes.

 

* * *

 

When Yuri hears the song title he scowls. “Goddamnit,” he says. “He really wants that song? Really?”

Otabek looks up from the CDJ and furrows his eyebrows in questioning concern. Yuri waves him away and makes the request. “Do you even have this song?!”

Otabek, with the face of a man who has been to hell and back, sighs. And then he nods. And then he [plays the track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cv61KxM2m1s).

 

* * *

 

The music comes on and Yuuri rolls their eyes, thanking the heavens above that Otabek has the good sense to at least play the good version.

Enrique falls into the music with far less grace than Yuuri themself had earlier, but then again, they’re exceptionally biased against overly arrogant fuckbois. Everyone has their flaws.

It just so happens that most of Enrique’s flaws – the ones not regarding the sizeable but metaphorical dick up his ass, as it were – fall into every category of physical movement known to man. His feet are tripping harder than his ego and it’s very obvious to Yuuri that he has no idea what to do with his hands.

All in all, following Yuuri’s stellar performance with a routine as lackluster as this is honestly insulting, and everyone around them seems to have picked up on it as well if the silence of the crowd is anything to go by.

Still, Yuuri lets him do his thing as they wander over to Viktor’s side, cuddling in against the warmth of his shoulder and reaching out to cradle his bruised knuckles between their palms. “Are you alright, momo?” they whisper against the sleeve of his shirt, gentle fingers brushing over minor abrasions.

Viktor hums, looking away from Enrique to focus on Yuuri’s glowing face. He raises a hand to smooth down the baby hairs that had come undone from their high ponytail. Yuuri preens, and Viktor chuckles. “More than alright, darling,” he says into Yuuri’s cheek, bending down to leave closed mouth kisses against the slightly sweat-damp skin of Yuuri’s neck. “Are you?”

Yuuri hums, glancing over to where Enrique still dances, oblivious to the completely bored crowd that only pretends to watch him. “Yeah,” they say, “he’s really quite terrible, isn’t he? I can’t believe what Senora Romano would say if she could see him now.”

Viktor chuckles and opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a record scratch and a very loud voice coming over the speakers again.

“Hey, asshole,” Yuri practically screams into the microphone. “What kind of bullshit are you pulling here? You call that dancing?! You look like a constipated duck!”

Enrique straightens, face pinched in offense. “Big words for a little girl hiding behind the DJ booth!” He yells back and oh. Oh no. He did NOT.

Yuri stands in complete silence for all of three seconds before calmly handing his phone and the microphone to Otabek with a gruff. “Hold these, and play track number fifteen,” before he’s purposefully striding towards the stairs and onto the dancefloor. “You wanna go, you JJ looking wannabe?” He yells as he enters the spotlight, cracking his neck with purpose and raising a fist to signal Otabek.

“Let’s go, motherfucker!”

 

* * *

 

If Enrique had expected Yuri to drop into a split and break out some fancy steps, he’s decidedly disappointed by the fist that catches him between the eyes.

He stumbles back as the crowd surges with vindictive glee, watching in stunned silence as this fiery little bantam of a four-year-old wipes the blood from his fist onto his jeans. “You gonna just sit there and stare at me all day,” Yuri barks, falling into a well-balanced stance and putting his fists up, “Or are we gonna dance?”

Enrique scowls in the face of such a small opponent, but when he looks up to ask what the actual fuck they expect him to do with such a feisty bantam, he finally understands what his grandmother meant whenever she warned him about the power of the evil eye. Standing behind Yuri is arguably the sexiest and most terrifying group of human beings he’s ever seen, and while he’d like to say that he stood bravely before the gods of lust and wrath and didn’t so much as sneeze, the reality is that he may have peed a little.

He glances back to Yuri and scowls, spitting blood onto the dancefloor. “Nah,” he says, “None of you faggots are worth it. I’m out of here.”

And then he turns and walks away.

Yuri makes to follow after him, but Mila catches him around the waist and dances him over to a booth despite his struggles so that she can take a look at his knuckles and make sure they’re not too banged up.

“Well,” Phichit says into the silence that followed Enrique’s departure. “At least that’s over,” and then, into the phone, “Hey, Beka, pump up the fucking jams why dontcha?”

Otabek throws up a thumbs up from the DJ stand, and the rest of the night is a blur of victorious merrymaking.

 

* * *

 

“Really, though,” Christophe says the next morning, nursing a hangover and his second shot of espresso. “Thank God for Phichit Chulanont and his steady selfie hands. These are amazing!”

Phichit flushes with pride, preening beneath the layers of concealer under his eyes and the bulky sunglasses saving him from the ‘hideous light of the day star’. “Why thank you, Christophe,” he says, queuing up another folder of pics to upload to the group chat. “My father wanted me to be a surgeon, you know, but my mom knew I was meant for greater things.”

“Thank God for Mrs. Chulanont,” Christophe says, while everyone else at the table just groans in varying degrees of hungover distress.

Viktor leans against Yuuri, eyes closed behind two pairs of sunglasses and face splotchy with concealer and leftover glitter. “Yakov,” he says through the dry thickness of his tongue, “must never find out about this.”

Yuuri chuckles and wipes away a smudge of eyeliner from his dappled cheek. “Of course, dear.”

Viktor groans, Yuuri chuckles, and Yakov never does find out exactly why his current and former skaters return from Barcelona with busted knuckles and smug smiles.

Yakov figures he doesn’t want to know anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading this chapter! I hope you liked it! If you wanna check out my other YOI one shots, there's a whole series of them (Not connected, so you can pick up with whichever one sparks your fancy) that are largely self indulgent but I like them, so there you go.
> 
> Fun Facts About This Chapter:  
> \- If Viktor seems a little violently OOC, then that's largely because he's hella tipsy so his inhibitions are kinda taking a back seat to his protective instincts. He just really loves Yuuri, okay, and his protectiveness usually comes out through copious cuddles and public displays of affection and when that doesn't work he defaults to his ice-sharp wit but when tipsy, his wit is kinda syrupy and Punching Sounds Very Good, so. There you go.  
> \- The whole 'wisdom teeth' thing was actually inspired by real life experiences. When I had oral surgery done (not wisdom teeth, but a long story so I'll not go there) my mom was super pumped to see me high as a kite on the good drugs but was SUPER disappointed when I just got really sleepy. Apparently my grandmother still makes fun of her for how dopey she acted when she was drugged up. I imagine Phichit would get loopy, too, but Yuuri would just fall asleep on the first available semi-flat surface.  
> \- Also, Yuuri not immediately jumping in to defend themselves, I think, is because they don't wanna jump into something that they don't really understand. Because all they know is that they're being attacked and while that's enough to get Viktor snapping at the threat, Yuuri's lowered inhibitions means a slight increase in anxious hesitance. It also means that once they decide that HELL YEAH LET'S DO THIS THING they go from 0 to 60 like *snaps* that. So.  
> \- The whole 'surgeon steady selfie hands' thing came to me last week in the shower and is 100% of the reason I was able to finish this chapter so, thanks Christophe. I guess. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, kudosed, and bookmarked this story (and those of you who will *hint, hint*) I try my best to respond to your lovely comments and do take constructive criticism as I am a smol bean with no beta reader. 
> 
> See you guys next time!!!! Have a great... whatever Springtime holiday you celebrate!
> 
> Also, p.s. and fyi, it's friggin SNOWING outside rn. I just got back from SPRING BREAK wtf is happening? It's MARCH in the SOUTH and it's SNOWING?!?! I mean, classes were straight up cancelled so that was nice but still! wtf!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably post part 2/? in the next few days. Let me know what you thought and if there's anything I got wrong.
> 
> Check out solo dancers of the Nutcracker Arabian Dance and Tango De Roxanne salsa for sort of the idea I had going when I wrote those super vague dance scenes. 
> 
> Dasvidanya!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Five Kinds of Drunk Yuuri](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10189676) by [Zadabug98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zadabug98/pseuds/Zadabug98)




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